Iris
by Kagura
Summary: After suffering the worst pain a woman can endure, Sarah goes to Salem, hoping to move on and start afresh. But as a wise man once said, sometimes the way forward is the way back.
1. Chapter 1

Did Jennifer Connelly have a nose job? Even if you said no, you had to think about it. I can't remember whether she admitted to it, it's been that long; however, like a true nerd and hopeless romantic, I always wondered how said nose job would fit into the Labyrinth universe. The scene I imagined was… well, less than flattering. But I decided to write said scene out anyway.

I'm just odd like that.

* * *

Linda Williams, Broadway diva turned silver screen siren, had acted out many hospital scenes. She'd played doctors, nurses, patients, grieving relatives, and even assassins equipped with vials of arsenic. But sound stages and movie sets were remarkably quiet places. There were no beeping heart monitors or whirring oxygen tanks. That racket was added later during editing. She responded to off-screen cues from her director. It was fake, all of it, from the equipment to the emotion.

But the noisy machines keeping her daughter alive were all too real. The needles piercing Sarah's wrists were pumping actual saline and morphine into her veins. There was no stage make-up staining her eyes black and blue. Her hair was crusted with blood, not raspberry flavored corn syrup.

The girl lying motionless in that itchy cotton gown looked nothing like her daughter. She didn't even look human. There were so many tubes and wires supporting her vital body organs that she looked like some extra from some B-list horror flick. Sarah was unnaturally still, as still as a mannequin, but the doctor had insisted it was for the best. If she even twitched, she could accidentally tear her stitches and bleed out. And her face…

"Thankfully most of the bruising is superficial, but she has corneal abrasions on both eyes. Her face was most likely pressed into the dirt during the attack. They'll heal on their own, but we'll still prescribe a topical antibiotic to prevent infection, as well as a topical cycloplegic to make her more comfortable."

Behind her, the doctor in his pristine white coat rattled off Sarah's laundry list of injuries, his voice cold, sharp and unfeeling. It was nothing like the movies, where the doctor was either utterly sympathetic or overly gung-ho.

"I recommend going ahead with labiaplasty to remove what's left of her hymen. Most of it was torn clean off, but there are some remnants of it. Hymenal tags cause pain during intercourse and birth, so it's better to remove them in the long run."

Swallowing past the lump in her throat, Linda nodded in agreement, blinding signing the form allowing the surgery as it was handed to her.

"Once the stitches have been taken out, her vulva will look and feel natural. However, there will be some nerve loss, but that depends on how much scar tissue there is. However, we have some of the best surgeons in the country, so I can assure that there will be minimum scarring. There was no damage to her clitoris, which is good," the doctor continued with some sympathy. It was disturbing to be talking about her daughter's broken femininity in such clinical terms. He used such ugly words, and he used them so casually. Didn't he know whose daughter he was speaking about? Maybe he wasn't a fan…

"Unfortunately, her nose is completely destroyed. The skin remains unbroken, but one of her nasal passages was crushed, and nearly all of the cartilage is loose or gone. Her anterior nasal spine, the little piece of bone that holds the cartilaginous center of the nose, has snapped off. She's looking at complete nasal reconstructive surgery."

Tears sprung to Linda's eyes as she looked at her daughter. Once she had thought Sarah pretty, but plain. Now, seeing her ruined face, Linda could only remember a devastatingly beautiful girl with flawless, innocent features.

"Our cosmetic surgery department is one of the best in the country, she'll be –"

"I keep Dr. Rey Nolan on retainer, he'll perform the surgery," Linda interrupted abruptly, her tone tense, curt. "He's in Malibu right now. Call him and tell him Linda Williams wants his ass on the next flight to JFK, or _else_."

She heard the doctor scribble something on his notepad, and then retreating footsteps as he left the room. It was more than uncomfortable, being alone with her broken ragdoll of a daughter. The girl on the bed, covered in bandages from head to toe, was a miracle. The man (or men) who'd raped her had very little knowledge of human anatomy. When they'd went to slit her throat, they'd cut directly under her chin, slicing her skin from ear to ear; they'd missed her arteries and trachea by mere centimeters. The scar would be long, but thin, and if her existing scars were anything to go by, it would be shiny, but pale and practically invisible. But it would be there, and she would have to deal with it every time she looked in the mirror.

"I promise baby, you'll be so beautiful after this," Linda whispered to a girl who had once been her spitting image. "Everything will be okay. You'll be prettier than you ever were."

Sarah didn't, couldn't respond. But when she woke up, she'd have a new nose – a prettier nose! One of those nice, straight ones, the kind a proper movie starlet had. Sarah was always complaining about her nose, so she'd be thrilled, just thrilled!

Wouldn't she?

For years, Linda had felt utter apathy about her relationship with her former husband. Sarah, her near clone, was just an accessory. Something pretty and complimentary, but as easily abandoned as an out of season pocket book. It was only when she was going for a vintage look that she brought out her daughter. When she needed to look mature and adult, she'd parade Sarah around like a show dog.

But now, with her daughter battered and nearly dead, she realized that everything was her fault. She felt no regrets about leaving Robert, Jeremy was the better man, but Sarah deserved far more than child support payments, the first thing being an apology. It was Linda's fault for letting Sarah walk back to the penthouse, for not insisting that she take the car. It was she that put glass after glass of champagne into Sarah's hands, thinking the seventeen-year-old could handle it.

"Oh Sarah," she sobbed. "Please don't hate me. I couldn't bear it if you hated me."

"You'll have to bear it, you bitch," an irate female voice echoed through the room as the door slammed open. "Now get the hell away from my daughter!"

Ever the ballet-trained actress, Linda spun on her heel gracefully, her satin, flouncy skirt swishing around her knees. She gasped theatrically, one hand flying to her throat in shock at the unexpected interruption.

Irene Williams, in all her bland, housewife glory was standing in the doorway of the hospital room, her usually coiffed blond hair falling in short, limp hanks around her plain face. But her eyes were hot, all molten blue fire and absolute fury. She was livid, a she-dragon in a wet trench coat. It must've been raining outside.

"What do you mean, _your_ daughter?" Linda drawled, her hands gripping her hips in a show of false bravado. Inside, she was trembling. Irene looked ready to kill her, but Linda was nothing if not a good actress. "The last time I checked, I was the one who carried her, who birthed her. You're nothing but a stand-in." She scoffed, her green eyes raking over Irene's sodden form. The woman was such a peasant. She kept her hair short because it was sensible. Her clothes were rarely anything more than utilitarian. Irene wasn't even a Stepford wife. She was just dull, as dull as the muddy white tennis shoes she was wearing. But not at that moment. At that moment, she was a bright spike of sheer rage.

"Listen to me, you ham-fisted cunt," Irene hissed through sharp, clenched teeth. "If she dies, I will feel no compunction about ramming an ice pick through that empty cavern where your heart should be."

A small whimper of fear escaped Linda's throat before she could smother it.

"I have never been thus treated in my entire life!" Linda gasped in mock outrage. With a flourish and a flip of her long, gleaming locks, she stormed out of the room and into the hallway – anything to get away from the venomous soccer mom, and her daughter's failing body.

Her breasts heaving from the energy it takes to be angry, Irene glared at Linda's retreating figure. Even in defeat, the actress was utterly beautiful and poised in her red cocktail dress. As soon as she disappeared around a corner, Irene flew to Sarah's bedside, tears streaming down her cheeks even as she cooed lovingly to her stepdaughter. She smoothed her fingertips over Sarah's bloody brow, brushing away strands of hair made crispy by drying blood. Sarah's eyelashes, spiked with tears and dirt, fluttered lightly against her cheeks, like the wings of a dying butterfly.

"Don't you worry Sarah," Irene cooed as she brushed her knuckles over the teenager's bruised cheeks. While not as liquidly graceful as Linda, Irene was infinitely more loving and motherly. She knew how to touch the daughter who'd only started calling her 'Mom' just over a year earlier. Sarah didn't even call Linda 'Mom', always mother or mama (pronounced mu-_mah_, with that cheap French accent Linda preferred). "Everything will be okay. Your father's on his way home from London. He'll be here any minute now. We'll take you away, I promise."

"I'm afraid that's not happening." Linda was back, her tone sure and acerbic. Irene glared at her through narrowed eyes, her hands still gently caressing Sarah's cheeks. Standing beside the low-life actress was a tall, dreary man in a wool suit. He carried a briefcase in one hand, and a set of papers in the other.

"Before Mr. Robert Williams left for England, he signed over power of attorney to Linda, as she is Sarah's biological mother," the man intoned with an aristocratic English accent. It went well with his graying mustache and droopy eyes. "Now, if you please, Sarah is due for surgery."

The self-satisfied smirk on Linda's face was so disgusting that Irene wanted to beat it off of her with a snow shovel. But, realizing her defeat, she closed her eyes and pressed a fleeting kiss to Sarah's forehead. The girl seemed to recognize the feel of her stepmother's chapped lips, a soft sigh wheezing through her split lips.

"There's no one in the universe as magical and wondrous as you," she whispered, thinking that's what Sarah would want to hear. And then several doctors in white coats came in and carted Sarah away, dragging with them those raucous life machines. Linda lifted her chin victoriously, leaving Irene to weep in the empty room.

As the metal hospital bed was wheeled down to the OR, Irene's words drifted through Sarah's drug-addled mind. But one thing was certain. She wasn't the most magical and wondrous person in the universe. Those words belonged to another.

"_Jareth_," she mouthed, even though her lips could barely form the name. Then more anesthetics were fed into her system, and everything went blissfully black.

* * *

Staring into a crystal balanced precariously on his index finger, Jareth sighed at the sweaty, frightened face of the Labyrinth's latest runner. The fat British boy had wished away his nanny in a fit of immature petulance, and then promptly realized how much trouble he'd be in once his parents found out. So he accepted the Goblin King's challenge, and after six hours, he had yet to figure out that solely making left turns was not a sensible strategy. Even the Labyrinth couldn't muster up the energy to change itself, instead letting the boy run in circles over and over again. Both the maze and its master were utterly bored with the chubby Londoner and his plump, rosy cheeks. The boy was so intolerable that Jareth made sure that anyone who could help him navigate the many walls and hedges were otherwise occupied. Even the worm was inside, probably enjoying a thimble of brandy with his wife.

And then there was the nanny, who shrieked so much that within minutes of her arrival, she was locked in an oubliette far away from the castle. Like all nannies, she was dour and frightfully sensible, all buttons, tweed and austerity. She made him wish for a hundred screaming babies. At least babies took naps.

He was about to shatter the crystal in a tight grip, when a voice so achingly familiar drifted in on the wind, carrying his name. For a minute, his heart came to a complete stop, the cacophony of goblin voices and squealing livestock fading away until all he heard was _her_. But nothing followed, not even her breath. She went disturbingly quiet. Even her heartbeat was hushed, and worse than that, uncertain.

Jareth sat up in his odd, misshapen throne, waiting for her to say something, _anything_, but she remained quiet.

"Sarah," came his weary yet loving response. He caressed the plain syllables with his tongue, turning that average, boring name in a term of endearment. She was such a precious thing, after all.

So precious, that he could sense something dreadful had happened to her, something life-shattering.

And then the obese English schoolboy started crying for his mummy, falling on his well-cushioned ass as he kicked and screamed like a toddler. Really, the English were supposed to be the most prudish and well-to-do people on the planet, and somehow they birthed this… this… _appetite_.

"I think it's time to open a new oubliette," he complained to the crystal, knowing that the Labyrinth was listening. He had a brief moment of glee as the ground split underneath the runner, swallowing him with a hearty belch before closing up again. He smirked, but in his heart, he could only hear someone speaking his name with Sarah's voice.

* * *

This is un-beta'ed, and most likely a one-shot, but it wouldn't leave me alone. So… yeah.

Oh yeah, and the title of the story comes from the song 'Iris', by the Goo Goo Dolls.


	2. Chapter 2

Okay, so this really was meant to be a one-shot. But then you all went and... _liked it_. Which was really, really odd. But, since you did, I decided to continue it.

However... I really have no idea where this is going. The plot will be as surprising to me as it is to you.

So, uh... here's the next installment?

* * *

She was supposed to be packing. The moving truck would be leaving for Salem in just a few hours. But Sarah couldn't bring herself to get up from the rickety, well-loved chair she kept in front of her vanity. She wasn't even looking into the mirror. Technically, she was looking _at_ it. The moment she came home from Manhattan, she'd tossed a large towel over the reflective glass. There was no point in using it anymore, not when she hardly recognized the girl staring back at her. That girl in the mirror was very pretty and adult-looking. She had a defined, straight nose that was flawless and perfectly proportioned for her face. But she had these awful green eyes that were as flat and murky as stagnant pond water. They were dead and lifeless, just two sunken holes incapable of human emotion. No smile could reach them, and tears had yet to escape them.

There also was this funny scar that ran from ear to ear, right where the skin beneath her chin met her throat. It was silvery and white, like fabled mithril, and was largely invisible against her milk-pale skin. But it was there, and always would be, like a tattoo or slave collar. Most people couldn't see it, and those who did had no idea where it came from or what it meant. Some even tried to touch it out of sheer curiosity, but no one had ever succeeded. Either she shrank back in fear, or Irene smacked their hands away. Not even Sarah touched her scar.

However, she wasn't sitting at her vanity just to contemplate the faded pink loops of the terry cloth towel. With all the changes happening, from the move to Massachusetts to her… new face, Sarah wanted something familiar, something that was _hers_.

"Hog…"

But the words just wouldn't come.

Sarah closed her eyes, massaging her temples as she swallowed past the dry knot in her throat. It had been six months since she'd last spoken to her friends. In truth, it had been three months since she'd spoken at all. After her neck had been stitched up, the doctors told her it would be two months before she'd be allowed to move her jaw, and three before she could talk, just so everything could heal neatly. She went on a liquid diet, and was given a small dry erase board to communicate. Sarah didn't use it once.

Steeling herself, with a deep, fortifying breath, she opened her eyes and tried again.

"Hog…"

* * *

"Three hundred and twenty! You'd thinks the little buggers would have the courtesy to stay dead, if only for a few hours," Hoggle grumbled as he kicked dirt over a temporarily disabled fairy. The blue-haired twit stuck her tongue out at him and blew a raspberry before dragging herself into a rosebush. Stupid tinsel-winged airheads. At least the Sidhe fae had room for more than one thought at a time… although Jareth could focus his energy on one thought for days on end.

_ 'Hog…'_

Startled, Hoggle reeled backwards from the hedges on unsteady feet. That sounded like Sarah! … Well, somewhat. Her voice was always firm and youthful, cocksure and headstrong. This voice was weak, raspy and plaintive. And she didn't even finish his name! His Sarah would never call him hog, not when there were actual hogs roaming the labyrinth. She might accidentally summon one of them, the silly goose.

His cracked mouth tipping in a frown, Hoggle growled lowly and doused the rosebush with spray after spray of fairy repellent.

"You shuts up, you feather-brained pests! I have half a mind to stomp you into jelly!"

When the voice sounded again, he thought nothing of it. It was probably just one some little fairy wreaking whatever havoc they had left.

He'd have to ask Jareth for better poison. The little buggers were building up quite a resistance to his normal brew.

* * *

Sighing, Sarah shook her head and started emptying the drawers of the vanity, mindlessly dumping their contents into a cardboard box. If they broke, she didn't notice – and break they did. The music box with the twirling white dress, the bookend that looked like Hoggle, the silver picture frame containing the last picture she took with Linda, and even the gray figurine of Jareth. Shards of ceramic trickled down to the bottom of the box, scratching up the many pictures and newspaper articles about her mother she'd collected over the years. After her trip through the Labyrinth, she'd packed away most of them. After her rape, she'd burned the rest.

Perhaps it was irrational, but once she'd woken up from her facial surgery, she directed all of her pent up rage and sadness at her birth mother. It was easy, and made her life so much better, as horrible as that seemed. For the most part, the hate she felt for her mother was right and well-placed. Linda had assumed that her daughter was more than capable of drinking half a bottle of champagne. She'd assumed that the underage girl could navigate New York City on her own. She'd assumed that Sarah would want a new nose. She assumed, assumed, assumed, **assumed**. Never, not even _once_, did she ask Sarah what she wanted, needed or felt.

It was because of her assumptions that the Williams family were moving; that, and Sarah was just ready to start over. Doctor-patient confidentiality and hush money lessened Sarah's brutal assault to a car crash. Linda had assumed that's what Sarah wanted. Then she assumed she could buy back Sarah's love, sending check after check to Robert and Sarah. Sarah kept all of them in a cigar box, thinking that they'd pay for Toby's college tuition someday. Robert used his to hire an excellent family lawyer, who in turn convinced a federal judge that Linda was an unfit mother. Once Robert and Irene had been granted sole custody, they decided that a change of address would keep Linda at bay, and salvage what was left of Sarah's childhood. The family decided on Salem. There was a job for Robert, an ornate, two-story Queen Anne painted lady for Irene, and witches for Toby. As for Sarah, there was no Linda.

A single knock reverberated through Sarah's door, followed by Irene's voice quietly asking to be let in. Sarah quickly closed the box and flew from her seat, opening the door before Irene could. As if physical trauma wasn't enough, the psychological damage Sarah suffered prevented her from letting people into her room unless she turned the knob. As the old film saying went, the scariest thing is an unopened door.

"Sarah," Irene said plainly. "Are you almost done?"

"Mm-hmm! I just need to tape up a few boxes and then the movers can come for the furniture."

"Very well then. We need to leave for the hotel by six; otherwise we'll all be sleeping on the floor." Sarah nodded just a little too eagerly, forcing a quick smile to appease her mother (her _real_ mother). Irene saw right through it, shaking her head as she lovingly pinched Sarah's chin between her thumb and index finger.

"There are some grinders downstairs, if you're hungry – Italian style, your favorite."

Sarah's nod of approval was assurance enough for Irene, and with one final, loving smile, she waltzed back downstairs, leaving Sarah to pack.

In her heart, Sarah was looking forward to a new life in Salem. It was big enough that Robert had found a hiring law firm, but small enough that Linda Williams was probably just another name in the phone book. People in Massachusetts did have such a lowly opinion of New Yorkers.

As she emptied the last of her wardrobe into a few suitcases, Sarah cast one last look around her bedroom for the last time. Most of it was carefully packaged in paper and bubble wrap. What remained were the bones, her bones, really – her bed, sans canopy and bedding, and her vanity, with the chair that saved her from Jareth's intoxicating, orgiastic ball.

In that moment, Sarah was thankful for fairy godmothers that came in the form of sensible stepmothers. She was thankful for the way they shouted out orders to come down and eat. She was thankful for their kindness, and for the way they fended off bad birth mothers.

And strangely enough, so was Jareth.

* * *

"I must say, Morgaine, that your newest harpist is splendid – in both body _and_ talent," Jareth remarked idly. The young woman plucking at the golden instrument was beautiful, all olive skin and wide dark eyes. Her inky black hair was brushed back with fragrant olive oil, and styled into an ornate braided up-do. She fit in very well with Morgaine's latest fetish for all things Greek.

"She's also an excellent lover, but that's for me to know and you to never find out," his stepmother drawled elegantly. Morgaine was the name she preferred for daily use, but most people, from fairies to humans, knew her as Morgana le Fay. She was the Dream Weaver, the muse, Arthur's bane. People called her a bad fairy, and being a queen of the Unseelie Court, it came with the territory. She _had_ to be a villainess, as that was how she served humans. For all Unseelie fairies were meant to serve humans, whether to tease, torment or kill them. The Seelie only had to practice benign neglect when it came it mortals. It was the Unseelie who did all the dirty work.

Jareth's eyes roved hungrily over the form of his stepmother. She was the perfect embodiment of sensuality, but her appearance was all wrong for an Unseelie queen. Morgaine was remarkably golden, with chocolate hair that fell to her waist in soft, untamed curls. Her cheekbones were high and wide, but generously peppered with freckles. Even her brown eyes were commonplace and surprisingly human. Then again, at one point she'd been human, but not anymore.

"Now what brings my stepson to my bower?" she questioned lightly as she summoned over a Titian-haired courtesan. Morgaine ordered the young girl to bring over some mulled wine and spice cakes. As the courtesan turned to go, she brazenly patted the girl's rear end, sending the redhead into fits of giggling.

"Maybe I just want to know why you married my father when you clearly prefer the company of human females." Grinning at his small victory, Jareth gladly took the glass of wine when the serving girl returned, reclining against the silken divan he and Morgaine were sharing. She really was in love with all things Greek. They were lounging in a Corinthian columned gazebo in her rose garden. Although the domed roof was crystal clear glass, fairy glamour lessened the glare of the sun. All around them, nude marble statues of shapely women poured water into fountains or frolicked amongst Morgaine's beloved blossoms.

"I'm a lesbian, my dear. Your father and I are just married in name. He doesn't take notice of my sexual escapades, and I don't take notice of his. Besides," she paused to stare at him with a delicately arched brow. "I am a leanan sídhe by choice. Once I am done with my lovers, they return to their homelands, where they become enormously talented artists. I'm simply doing them a favor."

Morgaine took a dainty sip of her spiced wine, delicately holding the silver goblet as she adjusted the pleats of her one-shouldered, unbelted chiton.

"I think I know what it is you want from me, although I don't understand why," she continued as her surprisingly sturdy hand plucked at the lavender silk of her dress. Her plain brown eyes fixed on his mismatched gaze, peering into his very soul. Jareth was nearly swept away by the magnitude of her magic as it thickly coated the muscles just under his skin. Suddenly he felt bare and transparent, utterly vulnerable to the woman many said was the earthly incarnation of not one, but two goddesses: Modron, the daughter of Afallach, Welsh God of the Underworld; and The Morrigan, an Irish goddess of war and strife. Morgaine never revealed her true origins, deliberately confusing her peers as to where her power came from (to keep them on their toes, she always said).

It felt like cobwebs were being drawn over his mind, caressing his very thoughts. Her eyes narrowed, and Jareth knew she found what she was looking for. Immediately he felt her withdraw, and the swiftness of her sudden absence had him gasping for breath.

"You want Sarah Williams, the girl who defeated the Labyrinth." Morgaine chuckled wryly, taking a hearty swig of her wine. Shaking her head, she gestured with her hand for the harpist to stop playing. The Greek musician did so immediately, falling silent. Even the song birds in the trees quieted their chirping.

"Very much so," he replied honestly. Jareth had no problem telling the truth to Morgaine. He'd heard of the consequences of lying to her.

"And you want me to help?"

Jareth nodded once. Morgaine waved the musician and the courtesan away. After curtsying respectfully, they wandered off, leaving the wicked stepmother alone with her equally wicked stepson.

"Taking human lovers is not unheard of. I do it all the time. Your father has several right now, both male and female." At that, Jareth laughed. Oberon craved beauty in all its forms; although he doubted the king enjoyed the friendship Morgaine shared her mortal consorts.

"But marrying her?" Morgaine sighed with a disapproving frown. "Jareth, you hardly knew the girl. She was pretty and you were aggravated. That's cause enough to rape her in the eyes of some of our more sordid contemporaries."

"Marrying her would put her in her place," Jareth seethed as anger tightened the muscles in his throat. "It would teach her that I am not to be… _rejected_." The word dropped from his mouth as bitterly as poison.

"She did not reject you," Morgaine soothed, patting his hand as if he were a child. "For she did not know what you were offering, although she probably would've rejected you if she did. What with that dream you sent her."

"I gave her everything she wanted. I offered myself time and time again!"

Morgaine just laughed, tossing her hair back over her shoulders like some wild filly.

"To test her merit, my dear boy. You continually sought to buy her in order to see if she was worthy of retrieving her brother. Falling in lust with her was entirely your fault, not hers. Maybe if you'd tried terror instead of tenderness, you wouldn't be sitting here now."

Jareth rolled his eyes petulantly before turning his stare to Morgaine's roses, hating that she was right. He brought the pain upon himself, and having Sarah seemed like the only way to stop hurting.

"I'm not here for tips on how to woo her, although you are the expert when it comes to bedding women," he replied snidely before his expression turned deadly serious.

"I want to know how you became immortal. Both your parents were human, but here you are, with no end to your days in sight."

Everyone knew the legend. Born to Igraine and Gorlois, she was Arthur's sister, Merlin's apprentice, and antagonist to Guinevere. She was a child of God even as she practiced the black arts.

"I'd always been blessed with magic," Morgaine bit out venomously. "Nothing comes from nothing."

"I suspect that she has some magic, or at least has been kissed by it. How else could she be drawn to –"

"Her toys and her costumes, I know, I know," Morgaine conceded. "Receiving and buying items that so closely mimic the creatures and places associated with you is hardly a coincidence. I take it you think the Labyrinth had something to do with it?"

Downing the rest of his wine in a single gulp, Jareth tossed the cup away. As soon as it hit the flagstones, it shattered into a cloud of silver dust. If ruining her property angered Morgaine, she hid her emotions well.

"The labyrinth is old, but still as sentient as ever. If the way it fooled Sarah all on its own is anything to go by, it is very much alive and well. But for her to beat it," _'and me'_, "is just too extraordinary. It had to have been planned."

And then Morgaine took his left hand in hers, gripping his fingers lightly, as if to give him comfort. Confused, Jareth raised her eyes to his, surprised to find, dare he say it, motherly love in those ordinary human eyes.

"Jareth, you don't need to justify your love to me. What can I do to help?" There was no scheming to be found in her voice. She genuinely wanted to help him. But for what reason?

"Do you want to help me because you're worried about my domestic bliss, or because you hate Titania?" Titania being his mother, of course.

His stepmother rolled her eyes skyward. "It's hard to hate a toad that can't jump as high as you, but that woman has become a pebble in my shoe. Apparently, she thinks I've stolen her entire life, from her husband to her son – the latter being the man she seeks as a consort."

"My mother is a victim of her own narcissism. Of all her children, I look the most like her. It figures that after her divorce, she'd pursue me."

"It's more than that." Peering around for curious onlookers, Morgaine pressed closer to him, whispering into his ear even as her mouth remained close. In seconds, her voice filled his head.

'_You are the only Seelie fae to ever rule from an Unseelie throne,' _came Morgaine's warning as it drifted into his mind. _'No one knows where all of the Labyrinth's paths lead to. You know it better than anyone, but it's always changing. At its will, at its pleasure. Not even you can control it.'_

'_And what does this have to do with my mother? Titania is just bitter. Once she finds a new fix she'll calm down,' _Jareth replied. Both his and Morgaine's expressions were slightly dreamy. If anyone looked at them, they'd see an embracing mother and son.

'_Even in defeat, Titania is powerful. She feels she has nothing, so now she wants everything. She will try to rule you, and I fear she may succeed because of Sarah.'_

'_Sarah wouldn't dream of helping Titania. She fears all things magical.'_

'_Even you?'_ Morgaine questioned laughingly. Jareth's mouth tightened. _'I only joke. I simply meant that she may hurt Sarah just to hurt you. Now, tell me how I can help you.'_

"I can no longer watch her," Jareth quipped out loud, their telepathic conversation giving him a headache. "Once she defeated the Labyrinth, I lost the ability to see her from my kingdom. If I wish to check in on her, I must go to the Aboveground. Even then, I must remain in the form of an owl."

"Well, that means that you _can_ watch her. It's just a pain to do so."

Jareth sighed, rubbing his temple with satin gloved fingers.

"Yes, well, while I was dealing with the Labyrinth's runners, it seems that the Williams family have moved, and I have no idea where to. You were the only person I could think of who could find out."

"And then what? You said it yourself. You're stuck as an owl any time you try to get closer to her."

There it was. The impasse. The roadblock. The question he couldn't answer. Jareth floundered for a moment, his mouth opening and closing several times. Huffing angrily, he leapt up from the couch and started pacing angrily back and forth.

Morgaine watched him, frowning at his impotence.

"Perhaps I could visit her," she said when one of his boots accidentally crushed one of her beloved Noisette roses. "Gain her trust. She's about eighteen now, right? I believe that is their final year of primary schooling in her world. I could pose as a teacher or something equally demeaning."

Jareth paused his prowling, narrowly missing a Bourbon rose.

"And then what?"

"Then I either bring her to the Labyrinth, or you to her home. I'll decide which one is more appropriate when the time comes."

Jareth turned to face her completely, one hand rubbing his chin thoughtfully.

"And what do you want in return for your troubles?"

The dark queen grinned evilly.

"Any time you and Sarah make love, you must give her your riding crop and she gets to be on top. You'll be her slave, unless, of course, she willingly submits. "

The smile on Jareth's face was broad and self-satisfied. He jogged back to the gazebo, pressing a kiss to his stepmother's cheek as soon as he was close enough. Then, in a shower of glitter, he was gone.

Morgaine sneezed as some of the shining dust crept up her nose, brushing the awful stuff off her once pristine gown.

No wonder she avoided most Seelie fae. They always seemed to leave a mess.

* * *

So... yeah! That just happened!

I have no idea where it came from. Do you?

Why don't you tell me in a review?

Oh, and when I wrote out Morgaine's appearance, I had Saffron Burrows in mind, when she played Andromache in 'Troy'.


	3. Chapter 3

Okay, so this chapter took place before _and_ during the last chapter (which is confusing – I know), but it's awfully prosaic, so I'm considering it an interlude. It's romantic! Well, sort of. It was inspired by the song 'Only a Dream', by Mary Chapin Carpenter. In fact, I've even planted some of its lyrics for you guys to find. Happy hunting!

* * *

The room was empty. There was no furniture, clothing, or any sign of someone who expected to be back. Everything smelled and looked too clean. His nose was filled with the cloying odor of bleach and wood polish, and the window shone as clear and sparkling as one of his crystals. Beneath his boots, the beige carpet was fluffy, but slightly wet.

Jareth peered around the small room, looking for Sarah, but no trace of her remained – not even the vanilla extract she wore instead of perfume. He remembered the tunnel he'd cornered her in smelled like cake for days. For weeks after his defeat, he couldn't bear anything that had to do with vanilla. It greatly upset his goblins, as they greatly enjoyed ice cream, but if he couldn't have what he wanted, _neither could they_.

At first, it was sheer bitterness that kept him from even saying her name. Then, as his anger melted into longing, he had to endure runner after runner, sometimes more than one at a time. So many babies and toddlers were wished away that he set up a nursery just to handle the load. He still had to care for them, even as he tormented their champions.

Yet he still made time for Sarah, once he had full control over his emotions. Every now and then, he would go to her world and just watch her, for that was all he could do. She had defeated him so soundly that his normal form lost any and all ties to her. Jareth couldn't see her in his crystals or read her mind. He couldn't grant any of her wishes, or even appear as a man before her. If he wanted to do so, he had to do so as an owl, which meant his magic was limited. Still, watching her was usually enough.

What a woman she had grown into in less than thirteen hours! He watched her as she put her toys away, amazed that she didn't take them back out once her impromptu party ended. In that night, Toby gained an excellent older sister. She never grew tired of the whole kid brother thing. As soon as he left the crib, Sarah became his world. When the lightning flashed during a thunderstorm, it was her bed he crawled in, not Irene and Robert's. She'd let him stay until the light of morning spilled over their faces, dead to the world, but not to each other.

Together, they grew as tall and proud as the trees that shaded the backyard. Even as she made friends (some male, he noted with agitation), it was Toby who held her heart. Sarah taught him how to skip stones at the pond, devoting nearly an entire summer to it. They went on picnics in the park that used to be Sarah's refuge. As they nibbled on their snacks and sandwiches, Jareth would watch from the sheltering branches of an elm tree. It was so easy to imagine himself lounging on the blanket with them; except, in his imagination, Toby was his son and Sarah his wife. He would pillow Sarah's head in his lap as Toby chased after a little girl with golden curls and defiant green eyes. It was always a girl, always.

Six months passed before he had enough time to see her. He was anxious to see how she'd grown, if she'd taken Toby to see Shakespeare's 'Twelfth Night', if that awkward boy from her gym class had stopped watching her as she stretched. Then that evening, just as he was about to land on her windowsill, he saw the family car back out of the driveway. Jareth thought nothing of it. Irene and Robert were probably taking their children to dinner or a movie. So he went back to his castle beyond the Goblin City, where he spent the night babysitting a six-year-old Japanese boy who had somehow wished himself away. It made for quite the logistical nightmare. The boy lost, of course, but Jareth took pity on him and turned him into a kappa before planting him in a swamp.

Come morning, the car hadn't come back. And when Jareth flew into Robert and Irene's bedroom, he instantly changed back into a fae, as he always wished to. He was startled by his own transformation, and slightly embarrassed by his modest attire (if tight grey pants and leather boots could be counted as modest). He wasn't even wearing his customary make-up!

But even more startling was the missing furniture. Something gripped his heart in a achingly tight fist. The walk to Sarah's room was the longest he ever had to endure.

And now, as he stood in a room that was as stark and bare as bleached bone, he knew the pain in his chest was his heart breaking. Toby and Sarah had been wrapped in paper and carted away in a big moving truck. Where they had gone, he knew not. Of his own volition, he never would.

He knew someone who could find out however, and though his fear of her was great, his love for Sarah was greater.

Two eyes, one brown and one blue, peered about the empty room, committing every little detail to memory. And as he took flight, he thought of furniture that would complement the vibrant wallpaper.

Perhaps a white crib with delicate pink pillows and a lime-green blanket?

* * *

The hotel the Williams family had stayed was nice, but it didn't make the morning any less early, cold and gray. Nor did it make the distance from Watertown to Salem any shorter. But at least Sarah would be able to squeeze in a few more hours of sleep, thanks to a pillow, sleeping mask and ear plugs. Sure, she'd have to put up with Merlin's whimpering and Toby's snoring, but whatever. Beggars can't be choosers.

Hauling one hell of a suitcase, Sarah blinked past the crud in her eyes, not caring that she looked like crap wrapped in a sweater way too big for her. She didn't even know what her hair looked like at that point. All she knew was that no one deserved to be up at four thirty in the morning, but her parents were notoriously slow drivers. Robert liked scenic routes and Irene just _had_ to stop at every kitschy tourist trap she could. Who cared about New York's biggest ball of yarn? It was **four thirty**in the morning, and it was very, _very_ cold. Like, aching nipples cold. Winter was more than on its way. It was smacking her upside the head.

Toby was already bundled in one corner of the backseat, only the top of his towhead visible from the cocoon of his sleeping bag. She saw one of Lancelot's ears, which made her smile despite her grumpiness.

"Good morning!" her dad called to her with way too much energy. He was standing in front of the station wagon, a map spread on the hood of the car. Even from twenty feet away, she could see the jagged yellow line connecting Watertown, New York and Salem, Massachusetts. So that's where her highlighter went.

"Hi Dad," she grumbled as she tugged her suitcase over to the large red car, heaving the heavy bag onto the roof so she could tie it down with bungee cables. Sarah noticed that her bag was the last to go on. That was probably Irene's doing, considering how 'late' she let Sarah sleep in.

"Are you ready, sweetheart? Do you want some coffee?" Robert asked as he tentatively walked over to his daughter. He hovered a few feet from her, rocking back and forth on his heels anxiously. Sarah watched him sadly as she buckled the last cord onto the roof rack. She knew that he desperately wanted to hold his daughter, to wrap her in his arms and tell her everything would be okay. It had been so long since he hugged her. The first time he tried she screamed at the top of her lungs. He hadn't tried since.

"No, I'm okay," she rasped, coughing at the gritty feeling in her throat. Everything was still healing, so she sounded pretty hoarse.

She smiled tiredly. Her father smiled back, but his shoulders slumped in disappointment. He awkwardly waved and reached for the map, pulling it to his lap as he slid into the driver's seat.

"You are **not** driving with that map in your lap! The last thing we need is a car accident because your eyes aren't on the road," Irene shouted as she exited the hotel, two large Styrofoam cups of coffee in hand. She was dressed rather nicely, in dark jeans and a leather jacket. If her sturdy boots were anything to go by, it looked like a hike was in the Williams family's future.

"Hello Sarah," she cooed airily as Sarah opened the door to the front passenger seat. Irene leaned in and put the cups of coffee in either cup holder. She leaned in to kiss her stepdaughter's cheek, but Sarah reeled back as politely as she could. Letting Irene hug her in front of her father just seemed grossly unfair to the man. Irene recovered neatly, just smiling as she sat down before pulling the door closed. Once she was sure everything was tied down, Sarah took her own seat. As she closed the door, she could hear Merlin snoring contentedly behind her, drooling into his favorite blanket.

This was it. This was the end of New York. There would be no turning back, no more staring at school. She'd have a chance to be normal, even if she was only pretending.

The engine of the station groaned as it was ignited to life, and as it rolled onto the highway, Sarah shifted uncomfortably in her seat. Everything 'down there' just felt unbearably tender and raw. The stitches had only recently come out, which was mortifying, but at least the doctor had been a woman.

Buckling up, Sarah pulled out the sleeping mask from her sweater's pocket-pouch, pulling it over her eyes as she leaned back against her pillow. She couldn't sleep though, not when her throat and lady parts were so sore. Whenever Irene asked if she was hurting, she lied and said no. Her mother needed to move on as much as she did, and constantly worrying about every ache and pain wouldn't get them anywhere. Besides, that's what aspirin and sleeping pills were for. As long as she could ignore the pain, she could ignore the memory. If she just cleared her mind and found a position that didn't make her ache, she couldn't feel the rough, clumsy hands ripping open her blouse.

No. No. She needed to sleep. There was no point in going down that road. They were gone! Maybe not caught, but gone. And if she ever found them, she was going to smash their nose in with a beer bottle. Turnabout was fair play, after all.

Eventually the steady purr of the engine lulled her into a light, but dreamless sleep. She could feel the pain meds kicking in, a sensation she'd learned to adore. Merlin perked up enough to lean over the seat and affectionately nose her cheek, causing her to stiffen in irrational terror. His breath was burning against her throat. It was only when he retreated did her muscles relax. After that though, sleep seemed impossible. A heavy, husky sigh sounded in the backseat as she yanked off her mask. It seemed she would just have to watch the scenery, slightly stoned and slightly sore.

On other side of the highway were trees heavy with red, yellow and orange trees. They were beautiful, but not as pretty as the glittering oaks of the Silver Forest.

More often than not, she thought about wishing herself away from all the pain and shame she felt. But Toby or Irene would champion her, defeating the Labyrinth out of sheer love.

Still, every now and then, a girl was allowed to wish.

Just not today.

* * *

Woot. Not beta'ed. Get over it.


	4. Chapter 4

Man, I've got 'Labyrinth' fever, and I have it _bad_. But don't worry, my beloved Lucian fans! I haven't forgotten you! I'm just on this kick. I promise to return shortly.

* * *

If there was one thing Morgaine lacked, it was modesty. She had no problem with being watched. Sometimes she thrived on it. It's why she practiced the black arts in her solarium. Located in lavender garden, it was roughly the size of a barn and built entirely out of windows, with pure gold beams connecting the many panes. It doubled as a greenhouse for her more dangerous potion ingredients, which made it the perfect place to craft spells in a bubbling cauldron.

"So what potion are you brewing," Diana, her harpist asked curiously as she peered over her mistress's shoulders. Morgaine was stirring a curious yellow concoction with a wooden ladle. She added spoonful after spoonful of fragrant spices. For a witch's brew, it smelled wonderful.

"Chicken korma – I thought we'd have Indian for dinner." Morgaine's eyes were focused intently on the spiced cream sauce. She looked positively witchy in her black chiton, the golden laurel wreath on her head a clear show of power.

"Then why not make it in the kitchen?" Bevin the redhead questioned, grinding some cardamom in with a mortar and pestle.

"Because Jareth is outside, watching me from one of my trees. He seems to think I draw most of my powers from potion making, which is completely false." Adopting a fierce expression, Morgaine let one hand hover over her part, the shadows her fingers' cast growing into a large spider web. It was all for show. The wispy shadows threading over the surface were nothing more than shadows. But Jareth expected nothing less than her.

"Right now he thinks I'm tracking Sarah, the dolt," she continued as she pulled her hand back to reach for the spices Bevin had pulverized. It was nothing more than black pepper, but with a little bit of glamour, it sparkled like flakes of obsidian. "As if I need a spell to figure out that one."

Diana wrapped one arm around Morgaine's trim waste, resting her dark cheek against the taller woman's shoulder. Jareth was right. Morgaine _loved_ nurturing friendship with consorts. Of course, she was the alpha female in their little pack, but sometimes a woman just needed some girlfriends.

"Then where is she," Bevin questioned with that delightful Irish brogue of hers. The girl was slated to become a wondrous opera singer once Morgaine was through with her. The mezzo-soprano would rival Grace Bumbry (who'd also been one of Morgaine's courtesans). Morgaine handed the mortar back to her to wipe clean.

Morgaine looked with admiration at her little harem. They really were oh so cute. And they'd taken being kidnapped remarkably well. Both of them had husbands of their own, but they were condescending and abusive. It was easy enough to lure the artists away. Who wouldn't want to spend a summer in Avalon, pampered and mentored by a beautiful and powerful fairy?

"Salem, strangely enough. I must say it works fairly well." Handing the spoon to Diana, Morgaine glided elegantly over to a chopping board, where a whole and recently deceased chicken was resting limply. She started pulling the feathers off methodically, collecting them in a small silver basin to be burned later. Nothing beat fresh chicken in terms of comfort food, even if it was bathed in curry.

"Is it true that Oberon is your son by Julius Caesar?" Diana appeared at her side, her fingers pushing Morgaine's aside the finish plucking the hen.

"Um, no. Ew. That was Hera."

Diana preened, shooting Bevin a victorious smile. Score one for the Greek!

"Does that mean that the twelve Olympians are ultimately almighty?" Diana asked, her question ending on a haughty note.

"No, that would be God."

Score one for the Irish Catholic!

Morgaine snapped her fingers, drawing the attention of either woman.

"Enough, you two. Really, one would think you were two spoiled wood nymphs."

Blushing, Bevin and Diana returned to their tasks. Morgaine rolled her eyes at the two. Maybe they were part fairy. They certainly enjoyed petty rivalries.

"Well, what about Jareth's sister?" Bevin ventured quietly as she put the small granite bowl away, moving on to the pestle. "Did you take her on as a lover?"

Pausing as she went to add some more spices to their supper, Morgaine looked through the glass into the laurel tree where Jareth perched. He was watching them intently, but magic ensured he could neither hear them nor read their lips.

"I never slept with Patricia. I simply nurtured her." With a smile, Morgaine thought back to Jareth's youngest sister by Titania and Oberon. She was the last child born to the couple. After her arrival, Oberon divorced his wife, and promptly moved on to several elves, fairies and humans.

"It was easy enough to give her everything she wanted, because she already had what she needed. Well, save for the talent and imagination."

"What do you mean?" This question came from Diana, who was still busy de-feathering the chicken.

"She had the height, the feet and the beauty needed to become a ballerina. But for all her natural grace and elegance, she lacked human inspiration. Pure-blooded fae like her make for excellent muses, but poor artists. They seek beauty, not imagination," Morgaine sighed as she returned to her cooking. "The paintings of Vincent van Gogh seem childish to people like Titania and Oberon, who believe that splendor only exists within the physical world, and not within the mind."

"So what did you give her? A talisman, or maybe a potion?" Bevin intoned with her splendidly rough accent.

"No, that wouldn't have worked. Turning her into a human was the only way. She wanted actual human talent, not just fairy glamour."

In her chest, Morgaine's hearts clenched uncomfortably. It had nearly killed her to take away the girl's immortality. She was just so… so beautiful and ethereal. She loved ballet, adored it really, but lacked the passion and creativity humans were blessed with. To get what she wanted, she knew the risks, and was willing to take the sacrifice. Thankfully, her beauty didn't diminish at all. If anything, she was made lovelier by her sudden work ethic. Her ennui was replaced with the urge to live life to the fullest. Death was something she was willing to endure if it meant being more than just Edgar Degas's muse.

Yes, she was his daemon, an invisible genius sitting at his shoulder while she clawed at his paintbrush. His words were actually hers.

"_What I do is the result of reflection and of the study of the great masters; of inspiration, spontaneity, temperament, I know nothing." _

Shaking her head, Morgaine dismissed Jareth with a wave of her hand. He ruffled his feathers, naturally, but took flight nonetheless.

"So why not just turn Jareth human?" She didn't know who'd asked the question, just that it was asked.

"Jareth is completely prepared for eternity. He won't admit it, but Sarah is his soul mate, the other half of him. They will get tired of being immortal before ever becoming tired of each other. And when that happens, they'll grow old together, and eventually die."

The three women were suddenly silent, each absorbing the bittersweet fate of the Goblin King and his queen. It really was romantic, Morgaine thought to herself. Jareth would've made an excellent human.

"Oh, and why does Jareth wear so much make-up?"

Morgaine shrugged.

"Beats me. I think it's a Seelie thing."

* * *

_Later, somewhere between Watertown and Salem!_

* * *

"Can I have a red one, Sarah? Please, please, _please_, please, please?" Toby begged as he jumped up and down, desperately reaching for the apple-laden tree branch above his head. Sarah rolled her eyes, rising onto the balls of her feet to pull off the exact fruit he was looking at. She dropped into his basket, tucking her hands back into her pockets immediately. It was just so freaking cold, and she'd already filled her basket.

Irene, in one of her fits on insanity, had dragged her family to an orchard that just happened to be on the way. Since it was Monday, business was a little slow, so the family that ran everything was just a bit overzealous when it came to hospitality. They were served warm apple cider and Dutch apple cake, given little bottles of cinnamon-sugar and cloves, and even taken on a hayride through the trees. Then, each member of the Williams family was given a wicker basket to fill to their heart's content.

"Apple-glazed pork is our special today!" the farmer preened as he adjusted the straps of his overalls. Sarah was careful to keep smiling. He was being very polite, but it was cold, and they were only an hour into their drive. At this rate, it would be another three weeks before they made it to Salem.

"That's wonderful!" Irene called from a ladder resting against one of the taller trees. She was determined to get the apples from the highest boughs. "And what about desert?"

"Apple muffins!"

'_Go figure,'_ Sarah thought to herself with a heavy sigh. From the corner of her eye, she could see one of the farmhand's staring at her with a dreamy look on his face. It made her completely uncomfortable, which is why she stayed as close to Toby as she could. But he hadn't made any move to approach her, except for telling her that she had nice hair as she passed. Weirdo.

She had to admit that her new haircut was kind of nice. The stylist had cut off most of the length off, until it barely feathered across her shoulders and collarbones. Sarah went a step further and asked for blunt bangs. The man (who was obviously gay) practically squealed with joy as he chopped off the hair covering her face, leaving just enough length to cover her eyebrows.

It was a desperate attempt to look like someone other than her mother. She couldn't bring herself to dye it, but at least it was shorter. The only downside was having to blow it out every time she washed it, otherwise it would get too wavy.

However, that morning, it looked so bad that she'd pulled whatever she could into a low ponytail, covering the rest with a baseball bat. Thankfully, Toby was a good cock-blocker. Noisy little kids were great at chasing off boys.

Sarah went to ruffle her kid brother's hair, when she suddenly her a strange whooshing sound, like a fan being waved in the heat of summer, or beating wings as the air rushed past them. The noise came from directly above them.

Looking up into the apple tree when the noise came to an abrupt end, Sarah's eyes searched, but there were too many leaves in the way. She swore she saw some brown feathers, but she couldn't tell. It felt like someone was watching, but then again, someone _was_ watching her. But what if it were…?

No, it wasn't him. He'd been way too pissed at her to even consider her worthy of his gaze. Which sucked, since he had such pretty eyes. They were odd to say the least, but they were his, so they were perfect.

As hot as the Goblin King was, he still gave her nightmares. They were beautiful nightmares, but they still scared her, now even more so. Several times she'd dreamt of the ballroom, but now that she knew what it actually felt like to be pawed and groped, it was like being attacked all over again. In those dreams, he only watched as she struggled to escape, as he did the first time.

"Irene, my back is killing me," her father suddenly grumbled. "Can we please pack things up and go? I'd actually like to see the oak leaves before the sun went down."

'_Oh great. He wants to drive through the woods. And all we'll have to eat is apples.'_

But Sarah said nothing. Being quiet was so much easier than being sullen. Whatever made her family happy made her happy.

Sarah peered up into the tree one last time before taking Toby by the hand. She led him off in the general direction of their parents, stopping every now and then to pick apples, until Toby's basket weighed almost as much as him.

Jareth watched keenly as the family went back to their car, packing their apples in paper bags before loading them into the trunk. He knew he couldn't follow them, not when Morgaine was brewing her potion, but he wished Sarah had stayed for at least one more moment.

Then he could've known why her face looked so different.

* * *

Woohoo! I love reviews. A lot. In fact, I think I'll answer them!

* * *

ParallelWonderland: Don't worry - I full plan on continuing this. I have no idea where it's going though.

Helikesitheymikey: Sorry about the poor wording! When Jareth was talking about the crib, he meant he was going to decorate their baby's/babies' nursery like Sarah's old room. Cute, huh? Oh, and Sarah does have other scars. Don't we all?

Kiruya: When thinking of Jareth (and his love for Sarah), I totally had Gemkat5's Jareth in mind. He's so in character, tempering his adoration with possessiveness. She's awesome. You should read 'Anticipation' – the smex is hawt.

Killian: Wicked, huh? Is someone from Massachusetts? Hmm? Because that's where my family comes from! Squee! It's why I chose Salem for the Williams' new home.

GeeAnnaB: You know, this is all your fault. If you hadn't threatened me, I may not have pushed on. But you did, so you rock.

ErinCullen: Thank you, and I will.

Writertron: And know more you will. Oh, and your Labyrinth/Persephone story is SO FREAKING AWESOME! WRITE MORE.

Sapphire Vial: I love Morgaine too. This story definitely needs comic relief, and it'll largely be her job to provide it. It's funny. Visually, as you all know, I based her on Saffron Burrows. However, I modeled Titania on Helen Mirren when she played Morgana le Fay in 'Excalibur'. It's almost frightening in how much she resembles Jareth.

HazlgrnLizzy: I hope the others will be just as interesting.

Avalon-Mist: Needless to say, I don't think Jareth's reaction will be proportionate.

Notwritten: As long as the reviews keep coming, I'll keep on smiling.

Lynrinth: I assure you, it's not, but as long as I keep tricking you into thinking it is, I think we'll get along nicely.

Kalina: I am the queen of cliffhangers. Bwuhaha.

* * *

Now here's some fun trivia for you! The Patricia Morgaine speaks of is not inspired by anyone – she's an actual ballerina. Her name is Patricia Barker, and in 1986, she starred as the adult Clara in 'Nutcracker: The Motion Picture'. She's so otherworldly and stunning, that she could totally be Jareth's sister. We won't meet her directly (or maybe we will), but her role is vitally important. If Morgaine could make her human, maybe she could make Sarah immortal? Hmm?

Look for "Nutcracker: The Motion Picture - "Waltz of the Snowflakes""on Youtube. Kadoty86 is the user who posted it. Trust me. It's worth it.

By the way, does anyone else think seeing Jareth slowly take off his gloves would count as really hot softcore porn?


	5. Chapter 5

Oh God! Another chapter!

* * *

"Have you ever been mistaken for a man, Morgaine?"

"No, Jareth. Have you?"

Diana watched on in amusement as the two fairies tormented each other. Their battle came down to one, well, two itty-bitty trifling things.

Jareth was a tall man, but Morgaine was taller, by two inches – putting her right at six-feet-tall. Even in his customary heeled boots, he was only _as_ tall as her, a fact that always grated on his nerves. And now, as she tried on pair after pair of high heels, he was reminded of his shortcomings.

They were so beautiful, the two of them, but her mistress was by far the better work of art. She was trying on her new wardrobe, which she had pulled out of thin air! By the holy Virgin, there was no one like Morgaine.

"If you're trying not to look like a witch, you are failing miserably," the shorter fae asked as he circled around his stepmother, Morgaine was standing on a small, circular stage set up before her mirror. She was modeling what would probably be her signature look – a black turtleneck, skinny black pants that barely reached her ankles, and shining, black oxford shoes. Her hair, her beautiful curly hair, had been straightened until it was gleaming and utterly flat. It only made her neck look longer, her cheekbones higher and rounder, but she no longer looked like Morgaine. The fairy-witch was almost tame looking, and certainly not very queenly.

"I like black, almost as much as you like those high-heels of yours. Unless your pretty little boots _aren't_ just a fashion statement." With a wave of her hand and a quietly muttered spell, the outfit vanished in a puff of black smoke. Now she wore a long-sleeved, black sheath dress with a waist so tight she looked corseted. The hem fell to just below her knees, revealing the lean, elegant muscles of her tan calves. Black patent leather loafers toned down the ensemble, making it perfectly suitable for a young teacher.

Diana quickly ducked her head down as Jareth stormed passed, stifling a giggle as he sullenly flung himself on Morgaine's bed. He fell back against the mountain of down pillows, several of them falling to the ground. As sensual as the man naturally was, he looked wildly out of place against Morgaine's ivory and gold bedding. It could've been the fact that his dove-grey pants were a stark contrast against the damask silk, but Diana suspected it was because Jareth was a man. That's why she wasn't jealous of his closeness to the queen.

"She looked nothing like herself, Morgaine," Jareth moaned as he flung an arm over his eyes, much like an upset teenager. Diana suspected he acted so childishly around his stepmother only because she put up with it.

"What have I told you about putting your feet on the bed?" Morgaine asked tiredly. Shaking her head, she made Jareth's boots disappear with a single snap of her fingers. "That's better."

Jareth sat up on his elbows, arching one eyebrow at his bare feet, then at his aunt. She was wearing a strapless black ball gown with a skirt fashioned from chopped-into layers of black tulle. The corset was made of pure silk brocade, black roses on a black background, of course. What had to be real diamonds of all shapes and sizes accentuated the sweetheart neckline.

Gasping, Diana's dark eyes drank in the sight of Morgaine. Her hair was pulled back into an elegant French chignon, with one of Morgaine's own black roses tucked behind her left ear. The Greek harpist knew that black roses did not exist in nature, so Morgaine must've infused them with her magic.

"Where could you possibly wear that?" Jareth groaned, seemingly impatient with his stepmother's flare for fashion. Diana couldn't understand why he was unappreciative of the elegant figure Morgaine cut, but he was a man. Women were much better at appreciating other women.

"Why, your wedding, of course! How else am I going to compete with that _fantastic_ white dress you put her in?" Morgaine blinked, simply _blinked_, and the gown was gone. In its place was one of those vintage dress swimsuits, black with white polka dots. A wide-brimmed, white hat shielded her oversized black sunglasses.

"It's winter, Morgaine. I very much doubt you'll be having any sexy beach parties."

Stomping her foot, Morgaine spun on her heel to face Jareth. She ripped off the hat and sunglasses, letting them both fall to the ground as she crossed her arms beneath her breasts.

"She cut her hair, Jareth," she ground out. "Big deal. And so what if she's thinner? She's eighteen now. Maybe she's outgrown her baby fat."

"She was a _skeleton_, Morgaine!" Diana's fingers slipped at the harshness of Jareth's tone. Coughing to cover her mistake, she focused harder on the song ('Isle of Inisfree', one of Morgaine's favorites). "Sarah was only growing into a woman, but the promise of fullness was there. She isn't meant to look gaunt. My Sarah is… soft, womanly. I think she may be ill."

"Maybe she's just _taller_ than you remember," Morgaine offered not so helpfully. As she stepped off the platform and towards Jareth, the swimsuit disappeared, probably into one of the many trunks she was packing. She was naked for one brief, glorious minute before pink silk poured over her shoulders, draping itself into a comfortable, easy chiton. Diana flushed, loving Morgaine's Greek fetish. Seeing her culture so embraced by the Queen was just more proof that Diana was favored over Bevin, the stupid Irish banshee.

"Jareth, you have to be realistic," Morgaine intoned gently as she crawled onto the bed. She sat at Jareth's feet, her eyes surprisingly kind as her gaze sought his. "She's older. She's bound to look different. If you are so entranced with the Sarah of your memory, there is no point in this venture."

The pressure of Diana's fingers against the strings lessened as her ears strived to pick up every word of their conversation; not to use against Morgaine, never, but to wave over Bevin's ginger head.

"That's not it, Morgaine." Jareth sounded contemplative, worried even. "I only saw her eyes for a moment, she was wearing this awful hat, but they were utterly _broken_. Everything about her screamed misery. And a few months ago I…"

Morgaine's brows furrowed curiously. "You what?"

Jareth's throat clenched as he inhaled strongly, as if to steady himself.

"A few months ago, I felt… something. It was horrible, like a little death. Then Sarah tried to say my name. Her heartbeat fluttered like the wings of a dying bird, and then she fell asleep." By this point, Jareth seemed to be talking more to himself than to Morgaine. "I've never felt so helpless."

Although Diana had only just met Jareth, seeing him so… _defeated_ was disturbing beyond belief. Although Morgaine had been alive longer, Jareth looked so much older than his stepmother. Like all fae, they were all at once ancient and youthful in appearance, but stress had lined Jareth's fine face, sadness making each wrinkle that much deeper.

The Witch Queen was slow to answer. Apparently she was bothered by Jareth as much as Diana was.

"I'll see what I can find out, but it's going to be slow. I won't be coming back to the Underground until you and Sarah have at least reconciled." Diana gasped, her heart stopping briefly. "Going back and forth between worlds is taxing and suspicious looking. So far, I've managed to avoid your mother for twenty years. The last thing I want is an impromptu reunion with her."

"Do you expect me to just wait here for months on end?" Incensed, Jareth sat straight up, glaring at Morgaine with that haunting gaze.

"By all means, no. After all…" Morgaine paused to smile deviously.

"Every decent witch needs a black cat to go with her broomstick."

* * *

It was just past noon, and the Williams had yet to leave New York. There were just so many freaking pit stops, ranging from potty breaks to photo shoots. When Robert started to yawn, Irene offered to drive. She asked Sarah to be her wingman, to handle things like the map and snacks. Sarah, anxious to be out of the backseat, readily complied. Halfway through their conversation, she was intensely regretting that decision.

"I'm not saying you _have_ to go to therapy, but it would be nice if you would talk to someone."

"Mom, I'm tired of talking. Between the cops, doctors and lawyers, I've talked enough for three lifetimes."

In the backseat, Robert and Toby were snoring gently, lulled to sleep by the soft rock playing on the radio. How anyone could fall asleep to 'Total Eclipse of the Heart' was a mystery to Sarah.

"Is it because your throat hurts? The doctor said that hot water, honey and lemon will help."

Sarah couldn't bring herself to look at Irene, her eyes fixed on the scenery just outside her window.

"No, that's not it," she lied, even as she fought to keep from coughing. "I just want to…"

'_What, move on?'_ Sarah thought as she closed her eyes against the tears she feared would come. _'Like that's ever gonna happen. Face it. You're screwed, and nothing is gonna change that. Get used to living alone. It's not like any man will ever want you. Who wants a girl who screams anytime a guy gets close?'_

Wincing at the morose turn her mind had taken, Sarah shook her head, glancing over her shoulder. She flashed a brief smile at Toby (the only male allowed to hug her) before looking out her window again. The forest was a work of art, golden and red, like a jeweled crown.

"I just want to not talk for a little while."

Irene's eyes were old and wise, but so sorrowful as they looked out over the highway.

"Things will be better, I promise. No one knows who we are in Salem.

For some reason, that made Sarah smile.

* * *

_We'll be halfway to anywhere,  
Where love is more than just your name._

'_Anywhere, Evanescence_

* * *

"Morgaine, you cannot be serious," Jareth whined, unaccustomed to being ordered around. Not even his mother was as stern as Morgaine.

"I am as serious as a heart attack. You can't get close to Sarah unless you're an owl. As strange as Salem is, a barn owl stalking a young girl is just a little too conspicuous."

Jareth watched from Morgaine's bed as Diana and Bevin helped their mistress pack away spell books, charms, potions and ingredients into a bottomless trunk. No matter how much she put in it, it never seemed to fill up. He owned one in blue.

"And how do you suggest I become a cat, hmm? I've only ever shifted to an owl."

"The spell is simple enough. You sacrifice that form for another. Cats are easy," Morgaine called over her shoulder as she modeled a black and pink kimono, oblivious to the matching looks of despair on her courtesan's faces.

"I refuse to be a black cat. They're much too plain." The thought of being something so drab and dull was repulsive to the fae king. Seelie fae weren't just known for being beautiful and vibrant, they thrived on it. It was why all flowers were considered Seelie symbols, even Morgaine's black roses.

"Fine. You'll be a bronze Egyptian Mau. Is that flashy enough?"

It took a moment for the breed to register in Jareth's mind. They were sleek, soft and had elegantly lined eyes.

"It's suitable. Am I allowed to keep my eyes?"

"Yes, fine. Anything to shut you up."

"And who is to run my kingdom while I'm away?" Although he sounded disbelieving and tense, inwardly he was thrilled by Morgaine's cunning plan. As a cat, he'd be mobile, inconspicuous and perfectly suited to dark corners. And if Sarah's relationship with her new teacher blossomed enough, there was the chance that she'd be asked to babysit her professor's pet. He could curl up on her bed and watch her undress to his heart content; and she'd _pet_ him just for being cute. And if he wanted to be human, all he had to do was return to Morgaine. The plan was foolproof.

"Diana and Bevin shall handle the Goblin City."

Okay, not so foolproof.

"You can't involve your family, and I can take my lovelies with me. Besides, most of the work will be done for them. Your goblins will take the children. All Bevin and Diana will have to do is babysit them for a few hours."

"But milady!" Bevin cried. "Surely Diana can handle it on her own. She is Greek, after all."

The look on Diana's face was positively venomous.

"No, both of you. It'll force you to get along, or you'll both learn what the word oubliette means."

Diana and Bevin immediately broke out into an ear-splitting argument, fighting over who got and did what. Jareth couldn't bring himself to care, not when Sarah… revenge was so close at hand. It was so sweet, that he began to sing quietly under his breath as Morgaine chastised the two squabbling girls.

"Drop of a hat she's as willing as, playful as a pussy cat."

* * *

Review time!

* * *

**Kiruya**: Just picture it. Jareth. Sarah. Riding crop. Lacy teddy. You can find them all in 'Anticipation'.

**Helikesitheymikey**: Wow, you actually have a better idea of what's going to happen than I do. I shall now steal your plot!

**Labyrinth Lover**: I can't wait until Jareth sees Sarah either! But we must be patient.

**Avalon-Mist**: Morgaine wanted to answer this question herself.

"Hell no. That would require sex with a man. Most people think that little shit Mordred is my son. He isn't. I did NOT sleep with Arthur. That was Morgause, my full and Arthur's half-sister, which still makes Mordred a product of incest – just not on my part. Ugh, can you imagine sleeping with your brother? Gross!"

However, according to legend, Morgan le Fay married King Urien of Gore, who fathered her son Ywain. However, in the popular story 'Mists of Avalon', Ywain was her foster son.

For the purposes of this story… you'll have to wait and find out!

**ObsessedOtakuofAmerica**: … SHIT. Fuck, I didn't think of that. Okay, give me a minute to figure something out.

**Chichi89**: Just imagine it. Jareth takes the tip of his glove between his teeth and pulls on it ever so slowly. Meow.

**GeeAnnaB**: If you're a mafia assassin, maybe!

Okay, folks, go ahead and review until your fingers fall off.


	6. Chapter 6

This has not been beta-read. I just thought I should warn you.

* * *

Sarah had a vague idea about what her new house probably looked like. Irene loved Victorian architecture. Having grown up in a bland, crowded New York City brownstone, she craved color and age. So it was safe to assume that their new house would be something like their old house. In some ways it was, but for the most part, it wasn't.

"Is that our home?" Toby mumbled to Sarah as the station wagon rumbled up Painted Gable Avenue. Their house was the last on the street, right at the end of the cul-de-sac. It was as if every other house was afraid to go near it. Its wrought iron fence seemed more like a cage than a decorative accent. A Sugar Maple tree, with leaves painted red by autumnal artists, dominated the front yard, casting eerie shadows on the front yard.

"Maybe," Sarah whispered back as Irene pulled into the driveway. There weren't enough words in the English language to actually describe the house. It was everything and nothing American Queen Anne houses had ever been, ripping off every cliché in the history of Victorian Architecture. Just as Irene insisted, it was a painted lady, meaning it was painted with at least three different colors. The wooden, fish-scaled roof was a deep maroon, while the clapboard siding was painted myrtle green. All of the trim was painted was painted marigold yellow, except for the wrap-around porch, which was just stained in order to highlight the beauty of the oak floorboards.

The garish color scheme was only half of it. The house was massive, two stories tall with what looked like a finished attic, at least from the outside. There were turrets on every corner, a balcony on the second floor (that must've been the master bedroom), and even a square tower!

As soon as the car came to complete stop, Sarah and Toby bolted out, dashing into the front yard to get a better look at the massive building.

"Dibs on the tower bedroom!" Sarah called out before it even occurred to Toby. Like a true five-year-old, he immediately protested, arguing the picking bedrooms went from oldest to youngest, but both Irene and Robert sided with their oldest daughter.

"Your bedroom is on the first floor, buddy," Robert sighed, a clear indication that he had no say in who got what bedroom. He and Irene started hauling out the bags of apples, which were still crisp and cool, despite the nine hour drive.

Gazing up at the tower bedroom, Sarah saw smoky purple walls offset with white crown molding through the massive bay window. She could even see a trap door on the ceiling, meaning that her bedroom had its own attic. _'Awesome.'_

"I hope a ghost lives in your closet," the towheaded boy grumbled unhappily as he crossed his arms over his chest. Sarah stuck her tongue out at him, happy to be arguing over simple things.

"It's quite possible," a lovely voice floated towards them on the wind. Sarah peered over her shoulder, surprised by the sudden appearance of what had to be one of their neighbors. She looked quite witchy, dressed head to toe in black. A swishy peasant skirt swung round her ankles, with a copper coined belt slung low on her hips. Over a simple black camisole, she wore a long-sleeved, rose-patterned lace shirt that clung to her lean frame like a second skin. She was barefoot, but her toes were painted a blinding shade of neon pink.

To top things off, in her long, lean arms, she was carrying what had to be the prettiest cat Sarah had ever seen. It was thin and sleek, with fur that shone bronze, golden, and even sage green in the dying sunlight. Black stripes and spots made it look like a cross between a tiger and a cheetah. But it was those eyes that made it a proper witch's familiar. One was brown, and the other was blue.

"That house is over one-hundred years old," she continued, pausing briefly to scratch beneath the cat's chin. It hissed and flattened its ears against its head, as cats were wont to do. Cats didn't have owners, after all. They had staff.

"How do you know that?" Toby cried as he ran over to the fence, with the eagerness of a young child who saw something furry and cute. The cat looked less than pleased by the boy's sudden approach.

"Did anyone die in it?" he asked with just a bit too much enthusiasm. He was staring at the cat with the lust of a dieter set loose in a candy shop. The cat stared at Toby with open disdain. From what she knew of cats, they weren't fond of small, clumsy children.

Deeply amuse by the cat's arrogance, but fearing for Toby all the same, Sarah tucked her hands in the pockets of her sweater and walked over to her brother. She was hoping to prevent a potential feline smack-down. Putting on her best 'new neighbor' smile, she gently placed a warning hand on Toby's shoulder

"It's nice to meet you, ma'am." Actually, Sarah wasn't sure if the woman was a miss or a ma'am. Her hair was brown with no color variation, and her face wasn't wrinkled or sagging. But her eyes were so wise they had to be ancient. When they traveled over Sarah's body, she could literally feel the lingering once-over. It left her feeling feverish and flushed, much like Jareth's eyes did – but in a very different way. She felt that this woman knew all of her deepest, darkest secrets just by looking at her.

"I'm Morgan Lafferty. I live next door," the woman, Morgan, intoned airily. She tilted her head to the right, indicating that the Victorian farmhouse just next door belonged to her. It was smaller, quainter, but even more colorful. Morgan's house was barn red with a black roof and white trim, but her front yard was awash in color. Instead of grass, there was an English flower garden. There were marigolds, lavender, daisies and other flowers Sarah had no names for.

Rose bushes, pregnant with hundreds of pink blossoms, covered her white picket fence. The arbor covering her patio was so choked with yellow jasmine, not an inch of wood was visible. There was a flagstone stepping path meandered through the garden, ending at a bubbling fountain, where a granite Grecian goddess poured water out of a pitcher into the pool beneath her. Next to it was a little stone bench, barely big enough for two people.

"Your yard is beautiful," Sarah marveled. She didn't know much about plants, but she was pretty sure that they didn't bloom so late in the year. "Did you plant all of those flowers?"

Both Morgan and the cat cast a quick glance at the flourishing garden. Morgan smile. The cat rolled its eyes.

"Every last bloom." Pride and joy colored Morgan's clean American accent, making Sarah's smile widen. The cat tilted its head at her, a slight purr rumbling up at its throat.

For a brief moment, the cat's eyes bewitched Sarah, the two-toned gaze drawing her in. Just as she was about to get lost, she shook her head free of the fuzzy feeling surrounding it.

"I'm sorry. My name's Sarah, and this is Toby. We just moved in." Sarah's smile flickered as she winced. _'Well, duh we just moved in! There's a big ass moving truck parked out front!'_

"Oh? Where from? Somewhere exciting?"

Laughing slightly, Sarah shook her head. "Watertown, New York, and exciting is the last thing it'll ever be."

"Oh, I've heard of that town!" Morgan giggled. Her laughter tinkled like wind chimes. "Harry Chapin wrote a song about it, um… 'A Better Place to Be'."

Toby, sensing that he was not allowed to pet the cat, went off to the car to get Merlin's tennis ball. Sarah had a feeling several windows were going to be broken if they played fetch.

"I've never heard of Harry Chapin," she admitted sheepishly, slightly embarrassed by her ignorance. This elegant giraffe of a woman (she was just so _tall_!) probably knew everything and then some, if her aura was anything to go by. She just radiated knowledge, much like the goddess Athena.

"He said he spent a week there one afternoon," Morgan replied, obviously referring to Watertown as she scratched the cat's ears. It seemed utterly offended by the condescending touch. "That's what he said, but it was also his favorite song to perform."

The green eyed girl just smiled that polite, distant smile. She didn't care much for New York anymore, so any insults against the state were wasted on her. Morgan seemed unperturbed by her silence.

"Let me see if I remember the lyrics." The cat sighed impatiently, its eyes closing. Sarah knew cats were clever, primeval things, but this one was positively human.

"It was an early morning barroom, and the place just opened up. And the little man come in so fast and started at his cup," Morgan began to sing. Her voice was husky, but sweet and enchanting. Sarah felt blessed just to listen. "And the broad who served the whisky, she was a big old friendly girl. And she tried to fight her empty nights, by smilin' at the world."

At that, the cat was done. It hissed and started writhing in Morgan's grasp, its very sharp claws popping out. Morgan hissed and dropped the cat, but being a cat, it just landed casually on its feet. A very angry noise, a cross between a meow and a growl, sounded from its throat as it wove its way between the fence posts, careful not to touch the iron. Then it rubbed its cheek against her denim clad legs, butting its forehead against her shins over and over again. It purred so loudly that she thought a car was starting.

"It seems Albert de Beaufort von Tiddlywinks has taken quite the liking to you!" Morgan remarked with a knowing smile. Sarah chuckled bending over to run a hand over the cats back. He licked her fingers before they could get close to his fur. The rough tongue scratched her fingers painfully, but Sarah was deeply honored. Cats were such particular creatures, and for him to like her was quite surprising.

"I know it's quite the title, but I haven't come up with a nickname yet," she admitted as Sarah crouched down beside the beautiful feline.

"That's okay," came Sarah's distracted response. The cat was bewitching her with its eyes again. "Cats don't need names to tell each other apart."

Morgan was silent for a moment.

"I suppose they don't." There was wonder in her voice, and Sarah knew right then, that she at least knew one thing her neighbor didn't. Again, Sarah felt honored. "Well then, what do you think he should be called?"

The cat stared at her, and Sarah stared right back. He had a curious little 'M' marking on his forehead, just above his brow ridge. With the tip of her index finger, she traced the lines, a small but genuine smile tipping her lips when the cat swatted gently at her wrist with one paw.

"'M' is for Mau," she heard Morgan say. "He's an Egyptian Mau."

"You're like a Ferrari," Sarah cooed to the cat. "All style and good looks."

Pushing his shoulders back, the cat politely bowed his head, and then left without a meow. He sauntered into Morgan's front yard, disappearing through an open window.

"Well, I'm sure he'll seek you out no matter what you call him," Morgan chuckled. "I'm afraid I must be going, Sarah. It was a pleasure meeting you." The tall brunette smiled one last time, but as she was turning to go, she asked one more question.

"How old are you?"

"I turn eighteen pretty soon," Sarah said with a shrug.

Morgan smiled one of those secretive smiles again.

"Then we'll be seeing each other again. I teach humanities at the high school. Well, goodbye Sarah." With that, Morgan walked back to her house, leaving Sarah alone. She had just a moment to ponder the strange encounter before Irene was shouting for her to come and help.

"What a beautiful woman," she muttered before jogging over to the moving truck.

'_And what a pretty cat.'_

She knew what she wanted to call the cat, but there was only one Jareth, and no one, not even the most beautiful Egyptian Mau in the world, could replace him.

* * *

"Albert de Beaufort von Tiddlywinks? Are you inebriated?" Jareth demanded the moment Morgaine reentered the house. He was waiting for her in the kitchen, leaning against one of the counters as if he owned it – much like a cat would.

"I couldn't very well call you Jareth," Morgaine said dismissively, looking down her nose at her stepson. Since Morgaine had to adopt a more human appearance, so did Jareth. Even though he was only able to leave her house as a cat, he still preferred his natural form. But since Morgaine loved the sun, her windows had neither blinds nor drapes, just sheer ivory panels. Anyone who wanted to look in could, and seeing a wild-haired Fae king lounging around would be too strange, even for Salem.

His hair was still wheat blonde, but the longer strands were cut, and the rest of it now fell naturally instead of standing on end. Jareth's usual flyway, uneven style was incredibly popular amongst Seelie fae, but not in Massachusetts. Morgaine had clipped it fairly short in the back, but the rest of it still swept softly along his ears and forehead. The make-up was gone as well, but his pale skin and odd eyes were still magical and beguiling. Morgaine looked human _enough_, just as Jareth did. There was no getting around his true nature. Even in slim-fitting dark jeans and an indigo-colored oxford shirt (which was only partially buttoned), he looked otherworldly.

"Your bride is unbelievably wise," his stepmother continued as her false American accent disappeared. Her posh British accent reappeared, and it only refined her beauty further. "It makes sense, you know, what she said about cats. Of course the guardians of the underworld wouldn't need names to tell each other apart."

Although he was deeply angered by Morgaine's name for him, he couldn't help but be thrilled by the feel of Sarah's hands against him. If only there hadn't been fur in the way. If only they were intimately tangled on a fur rug in front of a fireplace, or wrapped around each other in bed.

"Humanities?" Jareth said after a moment, chasing away thoughts of Sarah's warm, bare skin. "Of course you would pick a class revolving around art. I take it you miss your harem?"

Morgaine was busy putting a bouquet together, her sink full of daisies, carnations and tea roses. With a knife, she clipped the tips and thorns, laying each finished flower atop a butcher block. There must've been fifty individual blossoms awaiting her loving touch.

"It's the one subject Sarah is sure to enjoy, even more so than literature. And, unlike her literature professor, I won't teach anything that has to do with theatre. My class will be a reprieve for her."

"Sarah loves the theatre," Jareth quipped angrily. "Why wouldn't you include it?"

"She does _not_ love the theatre. In fact, she fairly hates it." Her talented fingers plucked at limp petals, making every bloom look young and flawless.

"How can you tell?"

Morgaine stared at him flatly.

"Right, of course. You're a witch." Jareth felt slightly idiotic as he forgot his stepmother's origins. "But why?"

"I think it has something to do with her mother. What, I can't be sure. Only God can see the entirety of her mind."

Rolling his eyes, Jareth snatched up a rose, fingering the yellow petals slowly. They were pink-tipped and soft as velvet. Focusing on their texture soothed his mind.

He was so close to Sarah, but so far away. The only way to attain her affections was to purr and play with yarn. But he would take anything he could get. It was the first time he'd been so close to her in nearly three years. And even though he had to watch from those uncomfortable steel bands Morgaine called arms, he could easily assess Sarah's face, and the changes it had gone through.

It was definitely thinner, too thin for his tastes and her health. As he knew, her figure was meant to be softer. Her full breasts were a testament to that. But the tightness of her waist and the thinness of her biceps came from a poor diet, not a high metabolism. She wasn't eating. That would have to change.

But it was her nose that was the real drastic transformation. It was thinner now, and had it been on anyone else's face, it would've been generic. Hence, it must've been changed by artificial means. Why though? The girl who ran his labyrinth was stunning. Her beauty hadn't lessened, but now it was different. Sarah was different.

He had a feeling that difference was more than just skin deep.

* * *

Oh look, delicious reviews served with butter and jam! Yum!

* * *

**Kiruya**: Try luna de faeries' 'Bad Blood' next. Well, after you review. It has yummy, fluffy Jareth in it.

**GeeAnnaB**: A mafia assassin can always recognize one of their own.

**Labyrinth Lover**: We'll get there! I promise.

**Mai Sensai**: Trust me. I'd walk right past my stories as well, but thank you so much! Jareth is _soooooo_ hard to write. I've seen the movie a million times, and I just read the book (which isn't very good), but he changes so much. Some writers prefer villain-Jareth, others prefer misunderstood-Jareth, while some go straight for BDSM-Jareth. In the book, he tries to kiss Sarah, which kind of confirms his suspected feelings for her. There's also a line which provides insight into Jareth's mind as he finds out Sarah has infiltrated the Goblin City.

"_A goblin came running into the chamber, tripped on a chicken carcass, fell flat on his face, and from there delivered his message. "Your Highness! The girl!" _

_Jareth glanced up laconically. "What?" _

_The goblin was picking himself up. "The girl who ate the peach and forgot everything?" _

_"Yes, yes," Jareth said testily. As though he had had more than one girl on his mind lately. "What of her?""_

While it tells us that he's faithful to her (sort of), it doesn't tell us if he's a villain, or just pretending. I like to think that Jareth is so much in love with Sarah, that he will be whatever she wants and/or needs to him to be, so that's how I tend to write him.

Oh, and can anything involving Jareth really be called torture? I think he's too hot for it.

**HazlgrnLizzy**: Thanks for reviewing three chapters in a row!

**Helikesitheymikey**: I cannot answer all of your questions, as I honestly haven't thought that far ahead – I'm just taking it one chapter at a time. However, I can assure you that there will be more Toby/Sarah goodness, as well as Jareth/Sarah/Toby family lovey-dovey goodness.

Okay folks, review, review, review! I'll keep on responding if you keep on reviewing.

Seeya later!


	7. Chapter 7

Not beta-read. Just think of that as you read, mmkay?

* * *

Adults knew nothing. They were too busy being big and showy, driving their cars and drinking their icky coffee. Bleh, the stuff tasted like dirt. Chocolate milkshakes were the way to go.

Sarah made a great chocolate milkshake. She never used the powder, it was like brown chalk dust. Nope, Sarah always melted a bar of some fancy English chocolate, and put in extra scoops of ice creams. Her milkshakes were so gooey and thick he had to eat them with a spoon. It was her secret, their secret. Mom and Dad didn't know about their late night adventures into the kitchen. He didn't even wanna think of how grounded he'd be if they walked in on him and Sarah making s'mores past bedtime.

Toby's big sister was _awesome_. She agreed that there was a monster under his bed, and the best way to get rid of it was to punch it right in the eye. When he heard noises coming from his closet, she gave very specific directions. First he had to say that he wasn't afraid, and that whoever was hiding in his sweaters had five seconds before he kicked their butt. It always worked. Sarah said it was because he was the mightiest and scariest creature of them all!

But even the mightiest and scariest creature of them all was allowed to be scared. Sometimes, when the goblins got too noisy, he'd crawl into Sarah's bed and press his face into her hair. Just so he could, you know… protect her! Yeah, protect her. If any demons came into her room, he'd cut them open with a sword. No, an axe!

In the morning, she'd thank him for keeping her safe, and then whisper that he needed to remember how he subdued everything that went bump in the night. He'd need it for some of the people he'd meet, she'd say.

Deep down in his belly, Toby knew Sarah had slain a dragon, or at least ridden one. How else could she be so brave and calm? If she was a character in a fairy tale, she'd be the knight, not the sissy damsel in distress. Sarah could totally take on the Goblin King, not that he was mean or anything. He just watched them every now and then.

Sometimes Toby thought the Goblin King wanted to kidnap Sarah, like the bad fairy in 'Sleeping Beauty'. Most of the time it seemed like he just wanted to play. While inviting Jareth to play hide and seek in the dark would be wicked cool, Toby got the distinct feeling that Sarah frightened him. He always wondered what Sarah would say if she knew the big bad Goblin King was afraid of her!

There were others who wanted to play, like the fairies with wings like candy wrappers and teeth so sharp they hurt more than bee stings. But they were sweet as sugar compared to the others. The rest were really bad. Sometimes when they went to the park, this woman would hide in the reeds just on the other side of the pond. She had green skin, blue lips and watery eyes. There were sticks and twigs in her knotty black hair, and instead of fingers she had sticky frog toes. But as soon as she saw Jareth, she'd disappear under the water.

Yeah, he knew the owl that watched them was the Goblin King; which is why it was so weird seeing him as a cat in that tall lady's arms. Why be a cat when he could be a wolf or an eagle? It was way too cuddly for a bad fairy, not that Jareth was a bad fairy. He was a good fairy.

That lady was a bad fairy though. She gave him goose bumps and made his tummy flip. But she made Sarah smile, and anyone who made Sarah smile was automatically cool. He used to make her smile all the time, but now all she wanted to do was sleep. Maybe he could ask the bad fairy for a potion that would make his big sis' feel better. It wasn't like Jareth could. Kitty cats were good for nothing. Even Merlin was more powerful than Jareth right now.

It was Jareth he needed though! If he had the Goblin King on his side, he knew, just _knew_ that the tower bedroom would be his. But no, Sarah was the oldest, and the room was hers. Hmph. Why did she get the coolest bedroom?

It had only two windows, one facing the front yard and one facing the back, but they spanned from wall to all. The one overlooking the front yard was a bay window, so it had a very comfy seat.

One that he wasn't about to leave.

"I still don't see why you get the cool room," Toby muttered, pouting at Sarah as she unfolded a pink quilt. The big moving guys had just putting together her canopy bed, and now she was putting linens on it.

"You can come in here any time you like," she said as she spread out the blanket. "I'll even set up the attic for you to sleep in."

That only made Toby's frown deepen. As if getting the cool bedroom wasn't bad enough, it had a finished attic. Sure, it was like being inside a pyramid, since it had the roof for walls, but there were four skylights (one for each wall) that let in the stars and the moon. Sarah had already put a bookshelf up there and a couple of pillows to lie on. He knew that she put some of his books in there, but it wasn't the same.

He also knew she hid the letters up there, the ones that had fancy official mailing addresses, like Ohio State, Boston College and Baylor. They made Mommy cry. One morning, when she brought in the mail, she was sobbing and hiccupping into her sweater. She was holding this big brown envelope that had Carnegie Mellon stamped on it. It was the first time Mommy talked to him like she talked to Dad, like a grown-up.

"_I know I shouldn't be so upset, but I haven't had eighteen years with her. I don't want to let her go yet."_

After that, Toby decided never to grow up or get married or go to college, not if it meant crying all the time.

"Sarah?" Toby asked, upset that he sounded like a sissy, so quiet and unsure of himself. Sarah looked up from the pillows she was fluffing, that fake smile on her face again.

"What is it?"

Feeling shy, Toby looked at his lap, tapping his fingers against his thighs.

"Will you stay with me?" he paused to swallow. "Forever?"

Sarah's eyebrows shot up into her brows, her mouth falling open. For a few moments, all she could do was stare at him. When Toby saw tears gathering in the corners in her room, he almost got up to run away. No more crazy girl tears! Gosh!

But she just walked around the bed, kneeling in front of him, the left corner of her mouth lifted in a quirky smile.

"I will never leave you."

Okay, so maybe she deserved the cool bedroom, Toby realized as he leaned forward to curl his arms around Sarah's neck.

* * *

From his vantage point on the bough closest to Sarah's window, Jareth watched the two people crowding his heart embrace tightly. If he could, he'd be smiling, but cats had faces meant for unpleasant emotions. Although he thought his eyes were softening, in reality they were narrowing dangerously. He'd have to practice in the mirror.

'_So what do your children look like?' _ a voice said quietly in his mind. Startled, Jareth looked to his right, surprised by the sudden appearance of snow white pine marten. It looked downy soft, and had rather familiar brown eyes.

'_So that's your other form? I didn't know pine marten's came in white.'_

Morgaine laughed, the sound oddly hollow and distant. _'They don't, but I love the color. I could turn into an ermine, but I own several fur coats. Shifting into one just seemed wrong.'_

Jareth was silent for a moment. _'I don't know'_

'_Yes you do. Don't lie to me.'_

Turning his eyes back to Toby and Sarah, he started purring, since he couldn't smile. She was reading something to him, probably one of Toby's monster books.

'_I can't see into the future.'_

'_Then what have you imagined?'_

Jareth tilted his head towards Morgaine and hissed, his whiskers pressing back as his ears flattened. He was finding that hissing was a great way to get his point across. It made being a cat tolerable.

'_I'll tell you if you tell me,'_ Jareth snorted derisively.

'_Rosalind had my hair and lilac eyes,'_ Morgaine said without hesitation. _'Oh, and blond eyelashes. I believe it's your turn.'_

Stunned by Morgaine's easy admission, Jareth stared at her, pointy ears pricked forward. He'd been led to believe she had no children, or was too embarrassed to speak of them. When accused of spawning the monster Mordred, there's really no chance of redemption. But she'd answered his question (inspiring a million more), and honor demanded he answer back.

'_I want a little girl,'_ he murmured reluctantly. It wasn't a lie, but it wasn't the truth. He did want a little girl, but he also wanted Toby. The lively little chap was charming and disarming, and so closely tied to Sarah. If his lip-reading skills were trustworthy, she had just promised to stay with him forever. That could prove problematic once they were married.

'_And what does she look like?'_ Morgaine pressed with barely contained glee. Again, Jareth hissed. The white pine marten hissed right back, its nose twitching rather cutely, Jareth had to admit. Morgaine's animal form was no more threatening than a teddy bear.

The ruffled tree cat (who was his stepmother) was just too adorable to lie to, although telling her that seemed like a horrid idea.

'_She looks very much like you,'_ he tossed out nonchalantly as his eyes turned back to Sarah. Contrary to popular belief, cats couldn't see in the dark. They could just see better than humans, since their eyes reflected and exploited any visible light source. _'After my… argument with my mother, I decided that I wanted none of my children to look like her. Nor do I want them to resemble my father.'_

'_But your father is dark, just as Sarah is.'_ Though she hid it well, as she did everything, Jareth could detect the faintest tremble in Morgaine's voice. She was either flattered, saddened or offended by his admission.

'_That may be so, but I would know my father's hair from Sarah's even with my eyes closed. I want my children to look like their mother – not my father.'_ Oberon was colorless and jet black, a moonless night, rainy night. Sarah was velvety and light in spite of her darkness, like winter twilight. It was a subtle difference in shade, but a difference he would know instantly. _'She would have your curls, and maybe some freckles.'_

The pine marten straightened happily, her rounded ears swiveling atop her head.

'_Titania is so bland, anyways. Stick straight blonde hair and blue eyes. How pedestrian!'_

Jareth should've defended his mother, whom he'd inherited much of his appearance from, but he just couldn't. She was catty and duplicitous, far worse than the woman William Shakespeare characterized. Purity of blood gave her a power she had no desire to control, especially now that she was husbandless and down a daughter (and, in her mind, a son).

'_How do you plan on becoming close to Sarah? Teachers and students must maintain a certain distance.'_ Finally alone in her room, Sarah finished arranging her bed, puttering with the canopy until it hung just right. Her face was as blank and lifeless as a porcelain doll, and far more brittle. She looked old, tired and so very _wrong_. Jareth almost wished that the girl turning down the bedcovers was Sarah's doppelganger, but he knew wishing for that was folly. Only a few fae could produce such convincing changelings. He'd only heard of three who were still living, the legendary Mab being the most likely to craft such a potion. Oberon could, but didn't. Charms and potions were the tools of women, at least amongst royalty. Kings employed spells, forming them through thought alone.

That left Morgaine, who knew not to kiss and tell; and while he knew she loved him, he did not doubt her wickedness, and knew better than to trust her completely. Her shadows were dark and dense enough to swallow anyone who ventured too close to them, even the mightiest of kings.

'_I plan on hosting a book night for my honors students. Achievers crave extra credit, even when they don't need it.'_ Morgaine watched Sarah as well, her nut brown gaze moving back and forth. _'Tempting her should be easy. Now leave – she's about to get undressed.'_

Nodding, Jareth slunk through the branches, jumping cleanly onto Morgaine's roof as soon as he was close. In the end, Morgaine would be whatever she wanted, whether that be friend or foe.

Being afraid of her was healthy.

Hopefully Sarah would realize that as well.

* * *

Oh look. Somebody has left me some very charming reviews! I think I need to respond to them.

* * *

**GeeAnnaB**: And now that you know, this conversation is over. Remember what happens to little singing canaries.

**HazlgrnLizzy**: Um… rape?

**Avalon-Mist**: Wouldn't you like to know! However, having just watched 'Ladyhawke' (which has not aged well – fuck you Alan Parsons), Jareth might have a few more lupine tricks up his sleeves.

**Labyrinth Lover**: Yeah, he was MIGHTY pissed about that. He promptly demanded some smut starring himself and Sarah after he read the chapter. I haven't gotten back to him on that.

**Chichi89**: Okay!

**Writertron**: Your wish is my command?

**Piratecheif**: I think he'd want some naked cuddling afterwards.

**Helikesitheymikey**: You know what habit would piss him off the most? Sleeping exclusively with women. And trust me, your reviews are like taking an inspirational two-by-four to the head. Keep it up babe!

And this is the part where all of you new readers join my current readers by reviewing.

Until next time!


	8. Chapter 8

I think I should maybe get a beta. Anyone up for the job?

* * *

'Tomorrow's a big day,' Irene informed her smartly when she came to say goodnight. 'You can still change your mind.

But she couldn't. She wouldn't. Staying home just to feel safe would be admitting defeat. She couldn't give up now; she'd come too far. No, she was doing okay.

Going to school required waking up on time however, and that wasn't going to happen if she took her sleeping medication. They chased away the nightmares, but the dosage she took was so high that come morning, she was a zombie. It felt like her head was swathed in uncombed wool. The world would be miles away until well into the afternoon, and class started promptly at nine.

While she certainly believed in fairy tales, old wives' tales were another story. A glass of warm milk before bed seemed harmless enough though, and it even seemed to help. By eight pm, she'd started to lightly doze, all snug in her bed; but just as she was really starting to fall asleep, her mind drew back the curtains that kept the real and unreal from mixing. It tormented her with memories both real and imagined. But the truth was by far harder to handle.

_She didn't know his face. There was too much blood in her eyes and it was so dark. First came the bottle, blow after blow until she couldn't breathe or think. Then he pushed her aching face into the ground and smashed the glass across the back of her skull. His hands pried her thighs apart and…_

Gasping, Sarah shot up in her bed, her face warm and strangely wet. With shaking fingertips, she reached up to brush away her tears, but her cheeks were dry as sand in the desert.

"Shit," she mumbled, throwing her legs over the side of the bed. With a start she realized she hadn't covered her mirror yet. How she wished she had.

The doctor said that the nose bleeds would eventually go away, just not tonight apparently. In the moonlight, everything was colorless. She trusted that blood trailing over her lips and chin was red, because all she saw was black ink dribbling out her nose. The girl staring back at her was a film noir, black and white ghost with hot tar dribbling out her nose and down her throat. Thin rivers were staining the collar of neckline of her. She hadn't realized there was so much of it…

Some 'victims', as the therapist labeled them, could break down just at the sight of blood; but she'd seen it so often it was just a nuisance.

Sarah scowled at her reflection and wiped at her chin, but all that did was smear the sticky blood across her cheek.

"Gross!" she muttered as she pushed to her feet. Outside her window, the Sugar Maple creaked and groaned in the window, its fingerlike branches tapping and meowing against her window.

Whoa.

Since when did trees caterwaul?

Looking closely in her mirror, she could see a collection of stripes slithering through the shivering leaves. One eye was lit electric blue while the other was utterly black.

It was Albert… Morgan's cat (she couldn't bring herself to say that awful show name.)

She turned around, ignoring the coppery taste in her mouth as she padded over to her window. Irene hated cats. No one could change her mind, so they were never allowed in the house.

The latch on her bay window was blessedly silent, as were its hinges as she swung the multi-paned panel open. The cat slunk over to the branches closest to her, his ears twitching independently of one another.

"Some say the meek shall inherit the Earth, but they've no fangs or claws, for what that's worth. The cat is the ultimate species, you see, we're poised to usurp man's authority," recited Sarah to the cat, her wet lips splitting in a ghoulish smile. Her teeth were unnaturally white, clean square pearls in her joker grin.

"I may not know your name, and Morgan may not, but you do – so I want call you Albert von Whatever." The cat nodded, inching towards her open window. It was chirping, something adorable but troubling at the same time.

"You can come in," she crooned. "I've heard letting a cat walk through a new house will bring luck to its occupants."

He tilted his head to the side, much like an owl would. His mismatched eyes were deeply troubled, matched by flicking tail. But in a single leap, he'd gone from the tree to her bench, barely indenting the pillow he landed on. Sarah was just about to brush her knuckles across his forehead, but he rose up onto his hind legs and started kneading her stomach with his front paws. He nipped at her t-shirt, his nose pressed firmly into her bellybutton. At first, it just tickled, but there was something about the purr he pushed into her, something urgent and morose.

The blood!

"Oh, I'm sorry. I'll get rid of it right now." He lowed sweetly, and hopped to her bed as she sat down at her vanity. The tissues she dragged across her face pleased him immensely, at least if his purr were truthful.

The cat was all at once perfect and flawed. He had too much grace and bearing for such a small, sweet body. His facial markings were feminine and thick around that two-toned gaze. He could peer into her very soul, but all he did was watch with disapproval as she cleaned up. Tissue after tissue fell into her waste basket, until she was raw, but dry.

When she peeled off her shirt to soak up the blood pooling between her breasts, she swore one of his eyebrows rose. What a spoiled little creature he was, and handsome to boot.

"I wonder if you see the world differently than I do," Sarah said lightly as she reached behind her back to unclasp her bra. "Most animals that have one blue eye are often deaf on that side of their head."

The cat sniffed delicately and flattened the ear on his brown-eyed side. His answer was as clear as rounded crystal.

"Okay then."

His eyes looked at her breasts in the mirror, as if judging their merit. He'd probably seen Morgan undressed hundreds of times and was comparing them. His judgment was probably more accurate than the editors' of Playboy.

"Stop that. I don't care how pampered you are, you still have to show some manners." The cat snarled noiselessly and flopped onto his side, facing the wall opposite her. Well, at least he pretended to be a gentleman.

Most girls, well, most anyone would have some reservations about letting a strange animal into their house. But there was something compelling about him, something European and genteel.

"I bet you're Morgan's familiar. I saw her green house, it has a butcher block island with lots of candles on it. Is she a witch?" Sarah asked, full of questions as she pulled on a fresh tank top. The cat waited to look at her until she was lying on the bed again. Once she was on her side, facing him, he gave her a look that said _'Wouldn't you like to know?'_.

"I would like to know. But not tonight."

The cat tolerated her fingers stroked down his spine, neither pleasure nor annoyance in its eyes. But when she went to pull back, he growled, as if to say 'don't defy me'.

And so, as she fell asleep, her hand remained draped over its ribs.

Jareth was immensely pleased, quickly falling in love with his feline wiles, no longer doubting that his magic was more than just sleight of claw.

'_God I'm good.'_

* * *

_Meanwhile, in the castle beyond the Goblin City!_

* * *

"I'm going to rip your greasy ginger hair out!"

"Bring it on, you ouzo-guzzling bitch!"

Bevin and Diana were engaged in an all-out battle, tussling on the ground, punching, slapping and pinching any bare skin they could. Their clothes were tattered and shredded, with fingernail-sized strips torn clean off.

Oberon, in all his ebony glory, grinned from his sprawled position on the Goblin King's throne. He was resplendent in a black poet's shirt so sheer it showed off his broad shoulders and clearly defined muscles. Shimmering grey pants even tighter than Jareth's were tucked into slouchy, soft-soled lambskin boots. The king was clearly in his sleeping attire.

Nobody was aware of his presence, because if they were, they'd be stunned silent by his beauty. Jareth bore no resemblance to his father whatsoever. He was lean and wintry, a white hart leaping through the first snow of winter. Oberon was dark and hearty, like the fabled moorland hellhounds that stalked the Desert of Wales.

His hair was black and straight, cut close and crisp to show off his full brows and almond-shaped, solidly obsidian eyes. He had a square, masculine jaw and high, jutting cheekbones. Although his milk-pale olive skin was free of wrinkles and age spots, his aura was that of someone made wise and witty by age, even though his cheeky grin by all rights belonged to a young boy.

"So, this is your newest harem?" the king lightly questioned the very tall woman to his right. Morgaine was also dressed for bed, draped in a flowing blue nightgown fashioned from some shimmering, gauzy material that hinted at her curves without revealing them. Her curly brown hair hung over her shoulder in a messy braid, its softness a stark contrast to her angry scowl.

"Since neither of us is aroused by this wrestling match, clearly you have summoned me for a different reason." Smiling, Oberon reached for her hand. When she did not recoil, he wrapped his fingers around hers and kissed her knuckles.

"Perhaps I simply wanted you to enjoy in the entertainment your courtesans are providing." Grin firmly in place, he pressed her palm to his cheek briefly before letting it go. Morgaine didn't strike him. Their friendship was too strong for that.

"I thought I had at least one ingénue. It appears they're both soubrettes." Seeing as the two musicians weren't going to come up for air any time soon, Oberon gracefully stood. After bowing to his wife, he held out his arm for her to take. Morgaine rolled her eyes, but tucked her hand into the crook of his elbow nonetheless. With a respectful nod of his head, Oberon gently led Morgaine out of the throne room. They made an elegant pair, matched in height as they glided effortlessly through the door that should've brought them into the Escher room. Instead, it opened into a field of wildflowers lit by the blue glow of the moon and stars.

From the corner of his eye, he saw Morgaine's slight smile. He knew she would appreciate his efforts to please her.

Although they came from two very backgrounds, the King and Queen were very much alike, more so than Oberon and Titania had ever been. Their most immediate similarity came from their position. Both were high ranked stewards and representatives of their courts.

It could be said that the rulers of the Seelie and Unseelie courts met in the middle. The mightier the crown, the more the king or queen resembled the other court. Unseelie royalty, like Morgaine, tended to be kinder and of sounder judgment, able to keep their nastiest creatures from becoming unruly demons. Seelie leaders of Oberon's ranking were harder and crueler than their lesser subjects, so they could prevent even the most angelic beings from becoming too kind and benevolent.

While this syncretism kept the balance and peace between the kingdoms from slipping, it ensured the safety of humans and limited fae power in the world. It also made for incredibly mischievous kings and queens.

"So my eldest is really in love with the mortal chit?"Oberon asked as he conjured a four-poster bed. He lowered Morgaine to the soft fur bedding, sitting next to her on his hip as soon as she looked comfortable.

"Deeply and without reserve," she replied as she transformed a daisy into a glass of wine. Oberon took it with a polite nod, sipping the sweet blueberry nectar as he looked over the field. They were somewhere in his kingdom, a secret place where only the king and his consort could enter. Even though she had never consummated with him (her disdain for the male form a firm barrier), she was still his queen, and in many ways, his truest friend.

"I thought so." Swirling the purple liquid around in the diamond goblet, Oberon frowned in thought. "He's not doing a very good job of wooing her though, is he?"

Morgaine laughed, the slight chuckle a lilting song as it carried on the wind.

"Not at all. He has his mother's 'mine' complex. He's assumed he has complete rights to her, in spite of his defeat." Morgaine's tone was light, teasing, but he heard the worry and concern he knew she was suffering through; for he suffered it as well.

"She's a lively filly. I'd go for her myself if I didn't love the boy so."

"At least _one_ of his parents doesn't seek to bed him." Morgaine stole the glass from his hands, taking a small nip before handing it back.

"Yes, Titania wants our son for a bed mate. I can't stop her if he consents." Oberon shuddered in distaste. Although his own mother was a wife to her own brother, he found incest and distasteful. The world was full of beautiful creatures. There was no need to seek out sensual companionship with your own brethren.

"Thankfully he's found Sarah. Her hold on him is tight and unyielding," replied Morgaine. Oberon watched with blatant interest as Morgaine reclined against the pillows. She was long and lean, a truly stunning example of the female form. But he respected her sexuality. If she wanted to be with women, then so be it. Besides, it was fun to see her fume every time he asked to watch her with one of her companions.

"He still needs to tread lightly, and you need to keep on your toes. Titania seeks to cast a wide net in her quest for Jareth. She may find a way to exploit Sarah."

Morgaine peered at him through her lashes, a delicate frown betraying her concern. And yet he saw fire-forged steel and determination in her eyes. This was a woman who would _not_ back down from a fight.

He knew he'd married well.

As she inhaled deeply in preparation for an argument, Oberon placed a finger over her lips, effectively silencing her.

"I fear for you as well, my dear. Although you are powerful and treacherous, you are but one woman. You cannot be everywhere at once." Oberon moved his hand so that it was now his thumb over her mouth. "Please, for my sake, be careful," he intoned gently as he dragged the pad of his thumb back and forth along her lower lip.

"If you keep acting like this, people will think we're in love."

Oberon grinned.

"Aren't we?"

* * *

Oh my god, review time!

* * *

**GeeAnnaB**: That's right. Halfling pipe weed, anyone?

**Kiruya**: You hurt me, Kiruya. You hurt me a lot. Oh, and Toby is so much fun. I likes him.

**Sapphire Vial**: I love Morgaine too! SQUEE. We have something in common! Oh, that and we both want you to review.

**Chichi89**: Sometimes, waiting is a good thing. Good things come to those who wait!

**Helikesitheymikey**: Yes, Titania really wants to fuck Jareth. It's really, really gross, but Jareth is just so… so… _hot_. And she's just so bitter over her divorce. Maybe it's loneliness or just bitchiness.

You must remember, if Jareth happens to be around Sarah as boys swarm her, he will be stuck as a cat; meaning Kitty Jareth will be the one attacking… Actually, that sounds pretty funny. "I'll claw you! HISS!"

I honestly think that if Sarah experiments with women, Jareth will be less than amused, because there'd be no hope for him. I bet Sarah would be a lipstick lesbian though!

**Writertron**: YOUR NEWEST STORY IS AWESOME. *faints*

**Sarah not Williams**: Yes! A million times yes! I always sneak in song lyrics, hoping people will notice them. And now, for the rest of my lovely readers, here's the quote.

_This world of ours is not as it seems,  
The monsters are real but they're not in your dreams.  
Learn what you can from the beasts you'll defeat.  
You'll need them for some of the people you meet!_

'Goodnight Demon Slayer', Voltaire

You rock, Sarah not Williams. _You rock_.

**Piratecheif**: Your wish is granted!

**Miya Silver**: Morgaine scares the shit out of him. THE SHIT.

Now go ahead and review, you dizzy dreamers!


	9. Chapter 9

Morgaine's face was slack and dainty as she slept. All of the tension, arrogance and poise that sullied her mood during the day were gone. Knowing the witch, she probably crafted a spell that cast those burdens on some hopeless peon, just for the fun of it.

Oberon held her as she rested, her cheek propped against his shoulder. Her breath misted coolly over his neck, the oil from the mint leaves she chewed raising goose bumps along his skin. One of her long arms was draped over his stomach, her hand curled against the side of his waist.

He couldn't stop touching her. With one hand he stroked the arm on his stomach, while the other was curled around her back, keeping her close.

They were husband and wife, married out of mutual need. Oberon needed a wife who would let him dally with whomever he wanted, one who could fend off Titania. Morgaine fit the role perfectly, and was willing. Her motives were a mystery, but so far she hadn't done anything besides annoy him occasionally.

Oh, how the Seelie court fumed over their union! Oberon was already disliked for being born into the Unseelie court. Taking an Unseelie bride hinted at a hostile takeover. It was only their vows that kept either kingdom from rioting.

'_I promise never to copulate with you.' _

'_I promise never to interfere in anything you do.'_

And that was that. Morgaine went back to Avalon, and Oberon enjoyed the many fruits of the world. Sometimes though, as he took his repose at the end of a long day, he desired Morgaine's company, not to talk or to fuck. No. Every now and then, he just wanted to cuddle her.

He loved her, after all. It was something he wouldn't admit to. If Morgaine knew, she'd probably kill him. If Titania knew, she'd use it to usurp his throne. So he kept it to himself, and helped Morgaine in any way he could. Whenever she needed him, he was at her side. When her lovers returned to their mortal lives, he helped them become noted virtuosos by putting them in the right place at the right time. Their lucky breaks were more charmed than actually lucky.

"Alas, my love, you do me wrong – to cast me off discourteously," he chuckled. Pressing Morgaine's face into his throat, he pictured her bedroom, and with nothing more than a slight sigh, he had transported them from his field to her new house. Even though the space was small compared to her mansion on the Isle of Apples, it was ineffably _her_. All of the linens, from her sheer curtains to the damask-patterned settee , came in shades of ivory, cream and vanilla. Her bed was massive, shielded by golden chiffon drapes. The sun was creeping up through the window.

"I must leave now," he whispered into her hairline, nuzzling his nose against her forehead. "Take care of my son and visit my daughter if you can."

Reluctantly, he lowered Morgaine onto her blanket, giving her a few moments of peace before her day started. She curled herself around a bolster pillow. As he carefully crawled off of the bed, he noticed that she was no longer wearing the filmy nightgown. Her cloth was poor, just a pair of very small cotton shorts and a sports bra.

"And yet you are still beautiful. Sleep well, my heart. Enjoy the apples."

Morgaine woke up with a snap, shooting up in her bed with a startled gasp. Her head swiveled around, looking for something, though she didn't know what. The alarm clock on her bedside table blinked 6:35.

She was about write off the entire episode with Oberon as a dream, until she saw the basket of golden apples resting at the foot of her bed. They came from Avalon.

"For I have loved you well and long, delighting in your company."

When pitchy beeping started blaring from the speakers of the clock, Morgaine rolled her eyes.

"Rise and shine, sleeping beauty," she said to herself.

It was time to face the day.

* * *

When Sarah awoke, the cat was gone and her window was shut. Her trash bin was empty, and the tissue box she'd nearly emptied was completely full. She was wearing the shirt she'd been wearing when she went to bed, and there wasn't a single drop of blood to be found.

But there was a clean towel and washcloth folded neatly on her chair, with a small bar of green soap resting atop them. She could smell rosemary and mint all the way from her bed. Irene must've come in earlier, although she swore she'd locked her door…

Her clock read 6:45 in bright green numbers. Her alarm was set for 7:00, so there was no use in sleeping any longer. She could probably take a longer shower too if she got up now.

"I wonder what dreams about cats mean," she yawned as she hooked her hands together, stretching her arms over her head until her shoulders popped audibly. Once she'd neatened up her blankets and pillows, she stumbled over to her closet. For the most part, her clothes were unpacked and put away – again, this was Irene's doing.

Even with the sunrise bathing her room in light, it was awfully cold, and she had to walk to school. That meant coats and long sleeves. It was her first day, so she wanted to look nice. But it was also already two months into fall semester, so she'd have to look effortless. Sarah didn't belong to any one fashion movement. She pretty much looked like any mid-tier high school student, neither popular nor an outcast. After putting together an outfit that was nice but not dressy, flattering but not ostentatious, she walked over to the trap door on the other side of her bed in three steps. It opened to the spiral staircase the led to the second story. Already she could smell melted butter and apple muffins. Irene must've been up for hours! Her mom could barely boil water in the microwave without burning the whole house down.

Grasping the handle, she pulled up the door, and carefully padded down the steps with one hand wrapped tightly around the railing. The iron was cold on her feet, but thankfully there was a hooked rug at the foot of the stairs, soft and plush and toasty. The inside of the house was wonderful, all ornate crown molding and dark hardwood floors. None of the rooms were very big, but that was a hallmark of Victorian architecture. The rooms may have been small, but there were a lot of them. On the first floor alone, there was a kitchen, a dining room, a den, a library, an office, and a solarium (otherwise known as a sun porch.)

The one downside was the itty bitty bathrooms. They'd all been updated, but only to the point of not needing to heat the water by fire. A brief trek down the hall brought her to the bathroom she shared with her brother. Since her arms were full, she pushed the door open with her hip. To her surprise, there was another pile of towels with the same bar of soap she'd woken up to. Again, the heavy fragrance of rosemary and mint filled the air. These must've been for Toby.

"I'll just give him my set," she said to no one as she placed her clothes on the toilet. The water was frigid when she twisted the tap, but in seconds it was blisteringly hot. Unsure of how to operate the shower, she decided to just rinse herself under the faucet.

Bucket after bucket of steamy water washed away the night and the cat, and the bar of soap was pleasantly gritty. She was so busy running it over her belly and breasts that she didn't notice the water streaming from her hair, tinged red from dried blood.

After soaking her hair for five minutes in conditioner, she rinsed off and snatched the towel up before the cold air could pinch her skin. It was unbelievably warm, like it had just been ironed, but it was supremely fluffy. Somehow, it sucked up the water before she could even think of moving it, completely drying her hair without getting wet.

"Impressive," she said to her reflection as she let the towel fall to the ground. Her hair was gleaming and straight, soft and dry from root to tip. Her bangs hung smoothly on her forehead, something that took a blow-dryer and flat iron to achieve. Usually it left the ends of hair crispy and brittle, but they were as smooth and healthy as the day they were cut. Damn, that towel was awesome.

"Crap, I didn't shave my legs." Sighing, she bent over to run a hand over her calves, but they were smooth and hairless, without even the hint of razor burn. They even felt like they'd already been rubbed with lotion.

The towel was _really_ awesome.

Deodorant and some vanilla extract later, she was getting dressed. Her outfit was lovely in its simplicity, she had to admit. It was just a pair of denim petal pushers worn over some black tights, with a snug, long-sleeved French sailor tee to match her black Doc Martens oxford shoes. A purple cardigan kept the outfit from being too punk rock, since she didn't want to be look like Wendy Wu or Siouxsie Sioux. She just wasn't cool enough to pull of the whole rock princess look.

A bit of mascara completed the ensemble, even though it only made her lashes thicker since they were already black. She should've been happy with the pretty girl in the mirror, were it not for her stupid fucking –

"Sarah, time for breakfast!"

Nose.

* * *

Although winter was his favorite season, it was Autumn that brought Jareth the most joy. The pastels of Spring and the greens of Summer were lovely, but the gold and ruby splendor of early Fall could not be rivaled. It was a time to sit outside and enjoy what remained of the disappearing sun. Often his dreams of Sarah took place at this time of year.

They were laying together on a plush blanket, facing each other on their sides, their canopy the setting sun, a field of wildflowers their mattress. This time, he had clothed her in a burnt orange gown shot with garnet threads. Its bodice was made of soft velvet and corseted to enhance her figure, but not too tightly. Even in his dreams, her comfort came first. His subconscious had fashioned the skirt and sleeves from gathered silk so sheer he could see the outlines of her long limbs.

Her hair, he left free and flowing around her shoulders like a waterfall of rare ink. No jewelry cluttered the expanse of her flawless skin, nor did cosmetics conceal the natural beauty of her face. Neither of them wore shoes or gloves, leaving their hands and feet free to tangle and tease.

"And what shall our first child be named?" Sarah asked as carelessly draped her leg over his hip. She ran her bare toes along the back of his calves, caressing his muscles through the thin cotton of his breeches.

"Arabella," he replied instantly, one hand pulling up the fabric of her skirt until it was bunched around her hips. Once her thighs were bare, he set to stroking circles into the soft skin just below her derriere.

"But you are not Scottish," she cooed, pressing herself against his chest. Her pale breasts heaved against the panels of her corset.

"You are an intuitive, intelligent creature, my Precious Thing." He leaned in to kiss the corner of her jaw, his nose tickled by a thin silver chain wore absurdly high on her throat. It ran from ear to each beneath her chin, disappearing into her hair. He thought about removing it, but it seemed to be a part of her very being.

"Will she be the heir to the Labyrinth?" His dream Sarah threw her head back, inviting his lips to trace the contours of her collarbone. It was an invitation he couldn't resist. Her skin was as sweet and fragrant as orchard peaches.

Jareth pushed her onto her back, straddling her hips, cursing the fabric now pooling around her waist and legs. Why hadn't he imagined her naked? This dream could've been much more interesting. She was still beautiful though, with her hair fanned out around her pale face like strands of raw silk.

"No – Toby will. I think it's time I settle down and have as many babies as I can with you." He was entranced as she bit down on her lower lip. Looking down at her, he realized that he'd altered his dream to accommodate her new nose. It was a minor transformation, one he would have to grow accustomed to if they were to be wed.

"And why is the first one to be named Arabella?" Her tone was pressing, teasing. She wanted to know, and she would know now.

"It's from one of my favorite poems. The suitor of a young girl cuts of a piece of her hair, causing an irrational feud between the two families. It was then written into a mock-epic."

"Did this poem have a name?" Her hands slid up and down the outsides of his thighs, sending sinful shivers of pleasure up and down his spine.

"The Rape of the Lock," he hissed breathlessly after a moment. Jareth smiled down at her, and she smiled right back. And then everything went wrong.

"I haven't read the poem, but I like the name." As she spoke, blood dripped out of her nose, gravity directing the little stream down her cheeks. The silver chain around her neck glowed white hot, burning clear through the skin of her throat. It disappeared into her flesh, pints of blood pouring onto her breasts and outspread hair.

"Is something wrong?" Sarah's voice was suddenly gritty and quiet, but her expression was perfectly calm and confused. How could she not known what was happening to her?

Jareth's eyes widened as blood gushed out her nose and from the deep gash on her throat. Frantically, his hands wrapped around her throat, trying to keep his love from bleeding out.

"You're hurting me!" she wheezed, trying to push his hands away. He squeezed tighter, her life pouring out of her in hot pints. But then she started sputtering, gasping for breath.

He was choking her in his effect to save her. If he let go, she'd die. If he held on, she'd still die.

"Sarah!" he shouted as her lips started to go blue. Her eyes were turning red, but no tears came. Little scratches were sliced across her corneas, criss-crossing her beautiful jade irises.

"Let me go!" she screamed at the top of her lungs.

"You'll die," Jareth breathed quietly, squeezing tighter and tighter, but the blood kept flowing, burning his fingers. She started writhing beneath him, bleeding and choking and dying.

And all he could do was hold onto her.

He couldn't let her go.

* * *

A priceless crystal goblet was thrown against a stone wall, shattering into a thousand glittering shards.

"Everything I have done, I have done for that ungrateful, spiteful child!"

This time a plate was tossed, a wondrous example of Ming porcelain.

"And this is how he repays me? By lying with that _whore_!"

Next, a vase filled with delicate orchids was carelessly pitched, destroyed as soon as it hit the granite.

"When he wanted a throne, I gave him one! Whenever he wanted a woman, I provided one! Everything he has, from his beauty to his power, he got from me!"

Hippolyta's face was drawn in worry as Titania frantically paced her garden, breaking the dishes that had been set for their tea.

The bitter stench of black magic was as heavy as the cloying perfume of the wisteria blooms shielding them from the sun. Titania's face was unnaturally youthful, her body high and pert as the day she married - no doubt the product of massive amounts of anti-aging potions (yes, fairies used the term anti-aging). Her long blond hair was gathered into a simple high ponytail. It pulled her taut skin even tighter. Beneath her loose, sleeveless gown of black fishnet, she was completely naked. Her nipples were dusty pink, poking through the silken mesh.

She was a petite woman, positively tiny compared to Hippolyta, who stood an imposing five-feet-eleven. When she hunted, she was even taller, a towering six-foot-five as she ran on the balls of her feet. She was everything the fairy queen wasn't – hard with muscle, of stern expression and black hair, and completely uninterested in magic. Her garb was utilitarian, a short chiton made of scraps of black wool and leopard skin. She had no need for potions or spells, not when her quiver was always filled, and her golden bow strung and flexible.

"Your son has not copulated with Morgaine," Hippolyta informed the queen, her voice surprisingly high and sweet for someone so fearsome. She adjusted her leather bracers, rolling her eyes as the queen chucked a teacup at one of her servants.

"And what of the girl? She destroys him, and he still pines for her!"

The huntress's eyes narrowed. She suspected that the girl's vicious assault occurred because Titania wanted it to happen. The queen would never admit that to Hippolyta. Like Morgaine, she had a love for woman, but it stemmed from feminism instead of sexuality. Hippolyta would not tolerate violence against women.

"He loves her, Titania. Nothing will change that."

"Did you see his face as she rejected her? He was positively ancient!"

"She wore down his will and defeated him as none had ever before. He was exhausted, and hadn't bothered with glamor to make himself look younger." _'Like you do every day, you arrogant bitch.'_

That part she kept to herself.

"Titania," Hippolyta said firmly, clearly tiring of the older woman's antics, even though they were very close friends. "It has been fifty years since your divorce was made final. Haven't you thought about moving on?"

Titania's icy blue eyes were wild and mean, not unlike a chirping songbird's.

"They took everything from me. I have every right to defend myself and take back my throne."

She picked up a teapot, intent on destroying this one as well. Hippolyta sat silently, distressed but unwilling to abandon her friend. As Jareth's mother continued on with her tantrum, Hippolyta was strongly reminded of a little ditty made up by Titania's rivals.

_Never anger a fairy queen.  
Make sure to never lie beside her.  
She's not afraid to make a scene,  
For revenge will not be denied her._

* * *

Hey everybody, this is Kagura here. I'm on the Satellite of Love, and it looks like I got some reviews!

* * *

**GeeAnnaB**: Never doubt my reputation as a nerd. Now come partake of some Longbottom leaf.

**Chichi89**: It is? Yayness!

**Miya Silver**: He's not just any cat. He's an Egyptian Mau. I have one, and she's a complete DIVA. But her facial markings are very Jareth-esque. Also, I shall keep up the great work, but you will have to wait every now and then.

As you noticed, his mother made an appearance.

And as for whether or not he finds out… Bwuhaha.

**Writertron**: And you shall have more! Kitty Jareth is so fun to write. He gets to lounge around all day, and every once in a while a gorgeous woman will pet him. If you think about it, Jareth does act like a cat most of the time – fickle, preening, expecting everyone to do what he wants, whenever he wants. He'd make a great cat.

**Labyrinth Lover**: If she did, this story would be over. And that would suck for all of us.

**Helikesitheymikey**: Kitty Jareth angry! Kitty Jareth SMASH!

No, Jareth is not going to be able to change size. He still has his owl form however, and Morgaine is incredibly talented at potion making. Who knows what kind of brews she's concocting in that pot of hers!

Oh Titania. I don't have enough words to describe her craziness. But I'll sure as hell try!

Kitty Jareth was upset! So was regular Jareth!

Morgaine is a mystery, but clearly, if something did happen to her, Oberon's wrath would be unrivaled. If this chapter is anything to go by, he'd be just as angry as Jareth if he found out she was raped.

**Sapphire Vial**: Oberon is so fun to write, because it's hard to imagine Jareth having parents. He seems like he just appeared one day. When I wrote Oberon, I actually had a real-life Oberon in mind. My favorite version of 'A Midsummer Night's Dream' is actually the George Balanchine ballet. There's a version you can get on DVD that stars Paul Gibson as Oberon. It is from his performance and appearance that I draw the inspiration for my Oberon.

What's funny is that in this version, Patricia Barker (my favorite ballerina) plays Titania; and as you already know, in this story, Patricia Barker is Jareth's youngest sister by Titania and Oberon.

If you're wondering what my Titania looks like, type 'Helen Mirren Morgana' into Google images. Helen Mirren played Morgana le Fay in 'Excalibur', and she looked so much like David Bowie as Jareth, that she seemed perfect in my mind.

**Udrian**: Hey there! Welcome to the party! Feel free to review every time I post a new chapter! Thank you for the compliment. I'm having a lot of fun writing this.


	10. Chapter 10

The students at Mead High School were like any other, Sarah supposed. They were separated into clearly defined groups. There were the jocks, the popular kids, the tortured artists, the nerds, and everyone else. From there they were split into even more specific cliques, identified easily by their clothing. The popular kids tended to be preppy, frequently shopping for polo shirts and tennis skirts. Somehow their Keds were always spotless. Some of the guys dressed like extras from Miami Vice, looking way too summery in their khaki pants and pastel blazers. They wore aviators all the time, even indoors.

The athletes tended to wear their practice uniforms all the time, as if it were the only way to prove they played sports. Even the swim team, who didn't start practicing until spring, wore their sweat suits and Speedos. The cheerleaders were the exception to this rule (then again, cheerleading wasn't a real sport). They just dressed like sluts, in high-heeled pumps and Lycra mini-skirts. It was fifty degrees outside, but they refused to wear jackets, else their skin-tight tank tops, which they wore braless, remain hidden.

Nerds tended to dress like their parent. Dress slacks, sweater vests, button-down shirts and pocket protectors were their hallmark. Student government officials (popular geeks) took it a step further, coming to school in power suits and Windsor knotted ties.

By far, the most varied fashions belonged to the artists, if they could be called that. Writers and drama students dressed exclusively in black, although the drama students wore stage make-up to stand out from their literary counterparts. Painters wore their smocks and overalls, their work boots stained with oil paint smatters.

Musicians took the cake for range. There were punk rockers in plaid shirts, various parts of their heads shaved to the scalp. Some wore safety pins through their lips and ears. Pop hopefuls worshipped Madonna and Michael Jackson. A few even came to class in leg warmers and leather corsets, because the student dress code was a gentle suggestion. But to Sarah, the most shockingly familiar were the New Romantics, who dressed like Jareth. They looked like equestrians rolled in glitter and sequins. They all cut memorable figures, but they lacked Jareth's grace, regal baring and elfin good looks.

And then there were kids like Sarah, who just wanted to get by, to make it through high school free of ridicule and notice. They dressed nice enough, but never flashy enough to draw attention. These students, Sarah included, were like the Swiss – completely neutral. They were unnoticeable, even though they dominated the student body.

It would be nice to fly in under the radar. Sarah didn't need to excel. She just needed to survive. Soon, she'd be graduating, so she only had to make it through the next few months. She could make friends at college.

Walking down the hallway, with all the students buzzing around her, Sarah didn't stand out at all. A few people shot her brief glances, but no one spoke to her as she crouched down beside her locker. She had one on the bottom level, but thirteen-seven-four, left right left later, she'd conquered the lock and dumped the books she didn't need.

All of her classes were located in one hallway, and algebra (her least favorite subject) was her first of the day. Room B112 was mostly full already, so she took a seat squarely in the middle, where she wasn't a social butterfly or a wallflower. The teacher was dour in his tweed jacket and bowtie, his thin grey hair plastered against his head in what had to be the worst comb-over ever. He adjusted his glasses, cleared his throat pointedly, and pushed away from his desk.

"We'll be continuing with the difference quotient today," he called over the gossiping students. They all fell silent as he wrote down the equation on the board, f(x) + f(x+h) over something (she honestly didn't care). Then he moved onto the roll call.

"Barbara Adams?"

"Present!"

* * *

"We're so happy you're here," Principle Keats told Morgaine, or rather Ms. Lafferty as her fifth period class left. The Dean of Students was a pudgy, tiny redhead with a stubby nose and currently, a ridiculously happy grin. She'd been sitting in on Morgaine's classes, stunned speechless by Ms. Lafferty's poise and collection. The new teacher was smart, charming, and refused to put up with the usual crap educators dealt with. She was practically perfect in every way. The only problem, if it could be called that, was her outfit. Ms. Lafferty wore black riding boots, black riding pants, and a slim-fitting black riding coat. The woman drove a BMW. Where was the horse?

"It's my pleasure," Ms. Lafferty said as she wiped clean the chalk board. The white clouds of dust seemed to actively avoid her; otherwise her pristine jet attire would've been grey by now. "I'm just happy you were hiring."

Principle Keats sighed sadly, shaking her head in dismay.

"Dr. Hurley's death was tragic, but not unexpected. The poor man was well into his eighties."

Ms. Lafferty clucked sympathetically as she turned from the board to collect all the apples given to her in a little basket. Yes, the students had given her actual apples. So far, she had about twenty.

Principle Keats was a married woman with a slew of grandchildren, but even she was finding it hard to find Ms. Lafferty unattractive. With her height and striking good looks, she was a goddess. Her hair fell to her waist, straight and gleaming like chocolate ice. As her eyes rested on the curves of Ms. Lafferty's breasts, she could feel her cheeks heating pleasantly, her thighs tingling with desire. She didn't know she could feel this way about a woman!

The doors opened with a snap, startling Principle Keats from her lustful reverie. As students started filing in, she cleared her throat and tugged at the color of her cable knit sweater. Like every class before, all of the males were instantly drawn to their humanities teacher. And as before, several of them placed apples on her desk (three granny smiths and two pink ladies).

Doing her best to keep from falling into Ms. Lafferty's lap, Principle Keats eyed the pupils as they took their seats. Most of them she knew, simply because they were in her office so often, the damn popular brats. The only one she didn't recognize was the pretty brunette in the purple cardigan. She quietly took a seat in the front row, placing her books on the desk. Ms. Lafferty looked up from her apples, grinning at the young woman. The new girl smiled back before opening her notebook.

Strangely enough, the entire class was silent, entranced by their statuesque teacher as she wrote her name on the board in flawless cursive script. They watched her hands with open mouths, inching forward to get a better look at the mesmerizing Ms. Lafferty – everyone except the black-haired girl. She was busy copying down some notes, her eyes fixed on her binder.

How did she resist the charms of Ms. Lafferty? It was beyond Principle Keats comprehension. Maybe the girl was just touched in the head.

* * *

Morgaine was happy that her back was to the class; otherwise they'd see her pompous, celebratory smile. She knew they were all staring at her with unabashed lust. Most humans did. It was biological to a certain point.

Like her stepson and her husband, Morgaine was a leannan sídhe (sídhe pronounced as she). Amongst all the fae, they were the most entrancing to humans, beating out even the legendary ethereal beauty of the elves. It was their magic, not their looks that inspired feelings of love and lust in mortal men and women.

Leannan sídhe tended to be female, though there were males, such as Jareth and Oberon. They often took human lovers, and in exchange for their love and devotion (which were frequently not reciprocated), their fae partner blessed with extraordinary talent. They all became world renowned visual, performance and literary artists. William Shakespeare was 'kissed' by a leannan sídhe, as was Pyotr Ilyich Tchaikovsky, Alberto Giacometti and Geoffrey Chaucer. None of them ever remembered their brief stays with their muses, because the fae in question would wipe their memory clean. Otherwise the demand for leannan sídhe would be astronomical.

Some of Morgaine's conquests included Darcey Bussell, Kathleen Battle and Veronica Lake. Oberon could claim Andrea Bocelli, Arturo Toscanini and Rudolph Valentino (not to mention a female harem that would rival Krishna's). It didn't matter if the artist in question was gay or straight. Leannen sídhe were simply too beautiful to be ignored.

Jareth had never taken on a progeny, and never would. He knew that if he took Sarah the way Morgaine and Oberon took lovers, she would leave him eventually, which was intolerable.

"I know this is jarring," Morgaine said with her crisp, aristocratic American accent, "losing your teacher so unexpectedly. I will do my best to continue on with his schedule and curriculum."

When she turned around, her students were indeed staring at her with dreamy eyes and dopey smiles.

"However, our focus will be shifting away from theatre, as Professor Hurley focused too heavily on the art form. We will turn our attention to painting, sculpture, architecture, literature and music. The study of humanities is, of course, examining human history through the eye of the artist. Now let us return to the Renaissance, page one-hundred-sixteen in your textbooks."

Immediately, the students started frantically flipping through their textbooks, eager to please 'Ms. Lafferty'. Except for Sarah, who was calm and collected, gentle as she handled her book. Morgaine held no sway over her. She'd eaten fairy food and danced with a king. She was as good as married.

"Read section four-point-one to four-point-three, and then we'll discuss it in the last half hour of class."

The students began to read without even a murmur, allowing Morgaine to sit quietly behind her desk. Although it was easy to cast a silence charm over her pupils, she had to do it for each individual student, and she had about thirty teenagers in each of her six periods. She had a right to be just a little bit tired.

With their noses pressed into their books, Morgaine was able to watch Sarah without anyone's notice. The girl from Jareth's memory was not the girl sitting quietly at her desk. There was no petulance radiating from her, no foolish strength or youthful bravado. She was defeated, quiet and incredibly mature. Jareth was right. She was too thin, by at least twenty pounds. It was fashionable to be pin thin, but Sarah's body was well-suited for softness, even squishiness. Her breasts, hips and thighs were simply too perfect and full to be destroyed by skinniness. Morgaine could imagine the feminine curve of her belly, something fae women longed to have. The Unseelie queen herself often longed for a suppler frame.

Although Jareth's little conquest was fascinating, Morgaine felt herself falling asleep. God, even when they weren't talking, the little buggers were absolutely noisy. Their pens were scratchy as they took notes, they breathed like hippopotamuses in heat, and several of those high-heeled whores were tapping their feet impatiently.

Modern teenagers were such a bore, wrapped up in their music and television shows. Sarah was the exception, not the rule. And as she filled her coffee cup with more espresso (magically, of course), she tried to make it through the rest of the day without falling asleep.

* * *

Kindergarten was stupid, Toby realized as he came home. They didn't talk about monsters or dinosaurs, it was all sissy stuff like finger painting pictures of apple trees and cows. They didn't even have chocolate milk at snack time, just that fat free stuff that was just white water. The snacks were boring too. He wanted Rice Crispy treats, not celery stick with low-fat peanut butter and icky raisins.

The books were boring too, for stupid kids. The only good one was 'Where the Wild Things Are', but the teacher read it like she was reading the back of a cereal box. She didn't read it like Sarah, who did all the right voices and yelled when the book required yelling. The rest of the books were too short and too sissy, for little girls and not demon slayers like him.

If only the teacher would read 'The Labyrinth'. Now that book was cool beans! Sarah didn't know he'd read it, but he had, and it had been really cool. Even the kissing parts were okay. It was always changing. Sometimes the goblin king married the young girl, other times she kidnapped him and made him her slave, although she never made him do anything awesome. Usually he just washed her feet or combed her hair.

The best parts were the battle scenes. In the book, all of the goblins were all wicked awesome with their axes and canons. They never had those when they came in his room, not that he'd ever really seen him in person. Somehow, he could only see them from the corner of his eye, and whenever they played hide-and-go-seek, the goblins always won.

Stupid goblins.

Mom was talking like one of those parrots at the pet shop. She was all 'blah blah blah, what did you do at school, did you like your teacher, blah blah blah.' Toby answered whenever she asked a question, but since they were walking home from kindergarten, she was too busy worrying about crossing the street and stuff. She wouldn't let go of his hand. Talk about embarrassing. He was too big to be led around like a poodle on a leash.

Really, girls were dumb. Mom was still talking, talking, talking as they got closer to home, and by that point, Toby had stopped listening. She didn't seem to want answers any way.

Sighing, Toby turned his eyes towards the smell of roses. Ms. Lafferty's yard was like a flower shop, except her flowers weren't dead or floppy. Each bloom looked as solid as bricks. Still, men weren't supposed to like flowers, so he looked for Jareth. He was easy enough to find, sleeping in the sun on that stony bench. As an owl, he was way sweet, but at least his cat form was tough. He looked like a tiny cross between a cheetah and a tiger, only his fur was almost green, like a sloth's!

"Um, mom, can I play outside for a sec'?" Toby asked, digging his feet into the ground as soon as they were outside the gate of their new house. Mom looked at him weirdly for a moment, but then she said it was okay, as long as he closed the gate behind him. He waited as patiently as a five-year-old could before dashing over to the fence facing that witchy lady's yard.

"Hey cat!" he called out, bouncing up and down on the balls of his feet. "Psst! Cat!"

Jareth lifted his head languidly, as if to say 'what do _you_ want?' with a Jareth-like arched eyebrow. Toby smiled, knowing that Ms. Lafferty's cat was really the goblin king, and not just a cream-sucking kitten.

"Don't let that mean lady call you anything but Jareth. You're the boss, not her, okay?"

The cat jumped to his feet, his fur bristling unhappily. But Toby knew Jareth wasn't a meany-head, so with one last smile, Toby went back inside. He could smell cookies, and they actually smelled tasty.

Which was really rare.

* * *

R-e-v-i-e-w time!

* * *

**GeeAnnaB**: I don't think Jareth's the smoking type. He's more a champagne guy.

**Chichi89**: Why should I? Huh? WHY SHOULD I?

**Jinx1764**: That was hard to write. I wasn't sure how to write horror, but killing someone to keep them from dying seems pretty scary.

**Sapphire Vial**: The towel is available at Bed, Bath and Beyond, located in the beyond section, next to caldrons and eye of newt.

: If it were me, I'd give Jareth a lap dance as soon as I found out. But he belongs to Sarah, which sucks. Oberon and Morgaine are sweet, and it's fun bringing in other famous characters from fiction. It's also way easier than making up new people.

**Princess of the Fae**: I'm sorry that you had to.

**Miya Silver**: Dump him.

**Helikesitheymikey**: Jareth is the oldest child and son of Oberon and Titania, but that doesn't necessarily make him their heir. He already has a throne. He doesn't need another one. I cannot answer all your questions, but I can tell you that the towel was not your ordinary towel.

**Writertron**: Really? WOOHOO!

**Sarah –not Williams**: I didn't think anyone would like this story, so we're in the same boat there. And Titania better watch her little blonde ass.

**BettyBimbo**: Kitty Jareth is available at Petsmart for five-hundred-thousand dollars, six trunks of gold dust, and thirty autographed pictures of Joan Collins. He comes with his very own riding crop and leather shoe polish. However, no matter what you do, eventually he will return to Sarah. Life is just unfair that way.

**Sunscorched**: Hello there! I'm glad you stopped by! So you like the story? That's wonderful. It always amused that Jareth the peacock turned into a common barn owl. He was cute, but not powerful. It's like the bird equivalent of a teacup poodle. Sadly, there was no happy place for Sarah. I will try not to write about it too much, because it's hard and uncomfortable to do so. But there will come a point when many things will be said and experienced. I am so happy that you liked the story. Keep reviewing and I'll keep posting.

* * *

Oh my goodness! Twelve reviews for a single chapter? That's the most I've received so far! Awesome, awesome, awesome! I promise to bring in some obligatory smut, because not only do you all deserve it, it is just ridiculously fun to write. But there's a catch. It may or may not involve Jareth and Sarah. Perhaps Morgaine and Oberon are due for some adult touchy touchy? Anyways, REVIEW. They make my day.


	11. Chapter 11

The Labyrinth was one of the most feared and revered places in the entire Underground. It had existed for so long that its architect and first king were a complete mystery. Not even the stones it was built with remembered. What was known was that its magic ran deep. Very few places in the realm were sentient, that is, they had a mind of their own. Granted, the Labyrinth's mind wasn't overly complicated. It could only focus on one task at any given time, and rarely felt any emotion besides love for its master. When it did, those emotions usually mirrored said master's.

When Jareth felt like teasing Sarah, the Labyrinth turned dead ends into doorways and vice versa. If Jareth was jealous of the dwarf's closeness with his intended, then tunnels to the Bog of Eternal Stench multiplied exponentially. Even though the results of Sarah's dream were disastrous, the Labyrinth made sure that she fell gently into the trash heap, as Jareth couldn't stand the thought of his love in pain.

Without Jareth, the Labyrinth wasn't sure how it should feel and behave. The Black Witch's harpies had no magic in them whatsoever, so it couldn't speak to them. Like it would want to. Their screaming matches shook the castle to its very foundations. And to think ladies were the delicate sex.

But even without Jareth, the Labyrinth knew it hated, but couldn't do anything about cheaters. Sarah had cheated, constantly seeking out the help of others, but Jareth loved her. She was the exception. Hippolyta was not.

That dastardly Amazon Queen was smart. Instead of looking for a door that only existed if Jareth wanted it to exist, she scaled the outer fence with her bare hands; and instead of trying to navigate the endless, winding pathways, she ran along the tops of the walls. Not once did she have to look at her feet. The Labyrinth seethed, cracking groans sounding from the many rocks and hedges.

Hippolyta grinned as she felt the unhappy vibrations beneath her toes. She knew the Labyrinth was livid. It had only been fifteen minutes, and she was nearly through with all the twists and turns (not that she'd taken any). She could understand the Labyrinth's anger. After all, she wasn't a fairy or even an elf. She was a human – an immortal human, the daughter of a god, but a human nonetheless. And she was beating the Labyrinth at its own game. It was true that Amazons were fleet of foot and incredibly agile, but they had no magic in their veins. Sheer intelligence gave Hippolyta her power.

As she ran, her pitch black hair streamed behind her, wavy and slightly tangled in the wind. Her bare feet avoided every single obstruction, flying from wall to wall. Every leap was a grand jeté, a flawless extension of her pale, muscular legs. From the waist belt given to her by her father, her quiver hung at her hip, not even a single arrow disturbed as she flew. In one hand was her golden longbow, a diamond skeleton key in the other. She was ready to fight, but that wasn't why she was there.

In a mere half hour, she had reached the trash dump outside the walls of the Goblin City. The Labyrinth was defeated. Coming to rest on the final precipice, she looked over her shoulder, staring down her Roman nose with icy blue eyes. Shadows started spreading along the floor of the Labyrinth, creeping along like spilled ink. Miniature earthquakes rumbled beneath her. Ooh, the Labyrinth was angry!

"It serves you right," Hippolyta whispered with that light, almost childlike voice of hers before hopping down. Behind her, the stones creaked and snapped under their own tension, but the object of their hatred was already sprinting across heaps of garbage.

The Labyrinth watched as the Amazon shimmied over the wall of the Goblin City. It could only hope that she tripped and fell.

* * *

"Your homework will be due Friday. Additionally, for eligible students, I will be hosting an honors program at my house every Saturday. We will discuss both classical and contemporary art forms, as well as the themes and ideals that connect them. Have a good night and complete your reading assignments."

There was a quiet murmur as the final bell rung. All around Sarah, the other students were quickly gathering their belongings, eager to be on their way home. Throughout the entire lecture, they'd been all ears and eyes, never speaking out of turn. She was shocked. During every other class, there'd been a constant buzz of whispered gossip and muffled giggling, but no one dared speak while Ms. Lafferty was teaching. She wasn't that scary… just tall.

Sarah closed her notebook, tucking her pen into the binding metal spiral. It had been a good class. Ms. Lafferty had given an excellent lesson on Renaissance architecture, turning an otherwise boring subject into something new and exciting. Filippo Brunelleschi's rediscovery of the proper method for making a dome was the main topic, and it really was fascinating. Sarah wished she'd been around for the section on The Dark Ages, but from what little conversation she'd heard, Dr. Hurley's voice and lectures were boring.

"So, how did I do?" a voice asked suddenly from above her. Sarah looked up, tilting her head almost all the way back to look into her teacher's eyes. Ms. Lafferty was smiling down at her, her lips nearly disappearing into her high, round cheekbones. For a teacher, she seemed awfully eager to receive her student's approval.

"You were brilliant," Sarah responded honestly. Behind her, Principle Keats shuffled awkwardly out of the room, jealous of the attention lavished upon the new student. Throughout the entire class, Ms. Lafferty's eyes would occasionally focus upon the brunette, but never long enough to raise any questions. Still, it was enough to irk the middle-aged housewife.

"I wouldn't go that far. The subject sings on its own." Nodding, Sarah slid from her desk, standing up to give her neck a break. Ms. Lafferty was just so tall. Once, when she was younger, her mother had taken her to a fashion show. The models were all lanky Europeans, boyish and severe; but they didn't have Ms. Lafferty's presence. She filled up the room simply by standing.

"So what do you have to do to be eligible for the honors course?" she asked as she moved to the door. Ms. Lafferty sat down behind her desk, pondering the basket of apples resting before her role call book.

"You're eligible, if that's what you're asking. Your g-p-a from your old school is high enough, and you have all the prerequisites," Ms. Lafferty informed her as she picked up a bright red apple. "Although you're more than welcome to come over my house whenever you please. It would be nice to have some neighbors who do more than borrow power tools every now and then."

Ms. Lafferty' brown eyes were bright and twinkling with mirth. Sarah couldn't help but laugh, but it came out as a raspy cough.

"Are you alright?" her teacher questioned with concern as Sarah rubbed her sore throat. Her fingers passed over her scar, surprised at how tender the muscles beneath it felt. It hadn't hurt this much in weeks. "Is something wrong with your neck?"

"It's just an old injury!" Sarah filled in quickly and quietly, waving her free hand in a placating manner. Her mouth tasted like copper, meaning something had probably split. "I have to go. I'll see you when I get home!"

Forcing a quick grin, Sarah turned tail and fled the small classroom, dashing to her locker so she could get home. She could feel blood on the tip of her tongue, warm and sticky. At least she'd made it to the end of the day without bleeding on anything. Talk about having a 'Carrie' moment!

The walk home was short and brisk, the chill of fall an uncomfortable pressure against her face. Her new home was close to the campus, so it only took about twenty minutes to get back to the house. It was forty-five minutes before she arrived home, however, for a certain someone would not be denied the pleasure of her company.

Resting on the sidewalk just outside of the gate to her house was 'The Prince', as she'd taken to calling him. Ms. Lafferty's cat, the gorgeous little thing, was lying on his side with his head tipped in her direction. His heavily lined eyes were narrowed lazily at her, his tail curled and still. The Prince was happy.

"Hello, your Majesty," Sarah intoned with a false British accent as she tiptoed to the sleeping beast. He let out a happy meow, purring when she crouched down next to him. The Prince met her fingers as they extended towards him, rubbing his cheek against her knuckles. Grinning, Sarah smoothed her palm along his spine, rewarded by another low meow. The Prince wasn't kittenish by any means, he was too regal for that. But he was adorable all the same, with the way his purr rumbled through her hand as she scratched his back between his shoulder blades.

"Your day was probably better than mine. I think I'm going to fail algebra." The Prince's eyes opened lazily, the blue and brown jewels endlessly deep as they searched her soul. She let him peruse ('peruse' – how proper!) at his own leisure. As much as she loved Merlin, he wasn't too bright or insightful next to The Prince, and he lacked the delicious sense of mystery that surrounded the elegant feline.

"You remind me of someone," Sarah whispered to the cat. One of his eyebrows rose, and she could almost hear him saying 'Oh? Do go on.'

"Mmhmm! You even look a little bit like him, although you're much prettier."

For some reason, The Prince glowered at her, his ears flattening slightly. His tail flicked once, but when her hand moved from his shoulders to his chin, all was forgiven.

"You're smaller though," she admitted letting him gnaw on her fingertips a bit. It didn't hurt, and he always smoothed the little love bits with the tip of his tongue. Really, whoever said that cats were bratty? This one was positively charming – and she'd only known him for, what, thirteen hours?

"You're name's longer too, although that's not a good thing. I hope you don't mind if I call you Prince Charming every now and then. It's easier than calling you… calling you…" God, even now she could bring herself to say it. How horrible that woman was to give him such a silly name!

His brows knitting, The Prince dipped his head to one side, slightly confused by the looks of it. But before she could dissect his mood, she heard Irene calling for her.

"Gotta go," she whispered sadly. For one long moment, she hovered over him, rocking back and forth on her heels. It seemed kind of silly to be nervous about what she wanted to do. He was a cat. Did the consent rule apply to them?

Shrugging her shoulders, Sarah placed one hand flat on the ground, and bent down. The Prince's eyes closed just as her lips met his forehead, a deep purr echoing through his chest as she kissed the little 'M' marking. Slightly embarrassed (why though?), she left The Prince to ponder her odd behavior.

* * *

What god had he angered? Was it Morgaine's Christ? Danu? Krishna? Who? Which deity was so angry with him that they'd cursed him to layers upon layers of fur?

When Sarah kissed him, he could feel the warmth of her mouth, but not her mouth itself. Somewhere in the universe, a very powerful being was laughing at him.

She seemed to adore him as a cat. Why though? Cats were sullen, spoiled creatures, much like the Sarah who wished away her brother. Even in the Underground, they were treated largely with contempt. Fae young and old feared the Cat Sìth, a legendary beast that haunted the Scottish highland. Bast was an ungrateful, unfeeling goddess who never answered the prayers of her adherents (then again, the gods rarely did).

But Sarah… Sarah was willing to _cuddle_ him when he was a Mau. After her impromptu and delightful kiss, he'd immediately dashed back into Morgaine's abode, shifting back to a fae in the safety of the basement. Naked as the day he was born, he paced the small, cold room with his arms crossed across his chest.

The bitter smell of black magic permeated the air, but Jareth expected no less. Morgaine kept her less than savory potion ingredients in this room, away from the goodness of the sun. In little jars were mysterious, oozing liquids, random body parts from random creatures, and several stunning flowers suspended flawlessly in ice.

There was also a mirror, one he'd seen when he was a small child. It was a magic mirror, of course, possibly the one from the Snow White canon. Right now, it was resting, so all Jareth saw was himself.

How old he looked as a normal human! Morgaine, quite bluntly, had told him that as a human, he was thirty-nine-years old. Thirty-nine! In cat years he'd be dead! Ugh, human aging was a repugnant process. There were creases and wrinkles… he looked old enough to be Sarah's father, and that was a disturbing thought.

Most of the problems he saw in the mirror were completely imaginary. He was still an incredibly beautiful and radiant being. There just happened to be a few more lines in places he didn't want them. His brows were all straight and normal, like a human's, but at least his eyes hadn't changed.

And then there was Toby. Jareth should've felt thrilled that his heir was precocious. Perhaps his time with the Goblin King had been enough to infuse the young boy with faery perception. But if he told Sarah his suspicions, everything could be ruined. He'd slept in her arms, and viewed her naked breasts, which were absolutely lovely.

That was beside the point though. There was simply no way she could know about him yet.

But what really troubled him was Sarah's illness, if that's what it was. There had just been so much blood, and her voice was positively destroyed. When she'd fallen asleep, he'd used all of his magic to erase his presence, including the tissues and sullied shirt. What ailment could possibly be afflicting her that would have such symptoms? He wasn't a healer. That wasn't his area of expertise, reining in the Labyrinth was. Fae didn't really get sick anyways. If they did, it meant they were dying.

Sarah couldn't be dying, could she?

The thought alone was enough to petrify him, freezing him in place; and as he came to a stop, he noticed that something was plastered on the wall behind Morgaine's mirror. There were words and a photograph – a poster?

Tiptoeing to the mirror, which hummed with dark energy, he gently pushed it aside. It growled lightly, but left him unharmed. Thankfully.

It was indeed a poster, for '_Les Misérables_'. He'd never seen the play, but it was supposed to be compelling. Theatre wasn't exactly his favorite form of art. Costumes and plots were best reserved for entertaining young ladies. He had several in mind for Sarah and him, but they required a bed, not a stage. There was something familiar about the poster, or at least the woman. She was dressed in some poorly constructed period costume, her smooth black locks coiffed into ridiculously stiff banana curls. But her eyes were polished jade, wide and consuming against her pale skin. Above her, 'Starring Linda Williams' was emblazoned in stenciled, red letters. Linda Williams. So _that_ was Sarah's mother.

* * *

Oh my goodness, review time! AHHH!

* * *

**DarkDreamer1982**: I don't know. I DON'T KNOW!

**GeeAnnaB**: Darling, I didn't mean to offend you. I was just painting a picture John Hughes could be proud of.

**Writertron**: Did you spot the revelations?

**Avalon-Mist**: Much like cats, there is no predicting Jareth's reactions.

**Chichi89**: Yay! Sarah's in school! Well, she was…

**Scipio's Girl**: He does not. If he finds out… the shit will hit the fan.

**Miya Silver**: Aww! Well, every now and then, go to a pet store and snuggle a kitten. It will make you feel better. And thank you! There are some really awesome stories on here. Check out anything byGemkat5 or Writertron. Trust me.

**Helikesitheymikey**: No no no, the towel is not perverted. I have a twisted mind, and even I don't think I could write that. I do, however, promise there will be some lemon-scented, adult touching between our starry lovers! Somewhere. I promise. Maybe this calls for a smutty one-shot? And I did mean progeny, my dear. Although prodigy or protégé would've worked, progeny was the most suitable. A progeny is something something that originates or results from something else. On the show 'True Blood', Eric calls Pam his progeny, because she is the product of his efforts, as Bevin and Diana will be the products of Morgaine's efforts. See? There is a method to the madness!

**Phedre Serenity Rosamund**: Hello there! What did you think of this chapter?

**Crystal Moon Magic**: Toby is pretty bad ass. And no, he isn't. Bwuhaha.

**Bettybimbo**: So many questions, and I won't answer any of them. Why? Because it'll spoil the surprise! That, and I'm omnipotent.

**Lady Gummy Bears**: Just as Yor is the man, Jareth is the boss. Obscure movie references, anyone?

**Megaman51**: And to think this was a one-shot! Thank you, thank you, thank you! Any sequels will have way more Jareth/Sarah action. Way more.

Anyways, that's all folks! Review!


	12. Chapter 12

WE HAVE HIT THE ONE-HUNDRED REVIEW MARK! I REPEAT, WE HAVE HIT THE ONE-HUNDRED REVIEW MARK!

BRING ON THE HOOKERS AND BEER!

AND ALL THE MUFFINS AND BAGELS IN THE LAND!

* * *

Sarah was infinitely prettier than her mother. He face was softer, healthier. Linda Williams looked painfully over bred, her features abnormally dainty and petite. She was as waxy and painted as a mannequin.

"She's definitely had plastic surgery," Morgaine said as she examined the poster with a critical eye. She stood side by side with Jareth, one hand stroking her chin as she considered the photo. All of the Broadway singer's flaws had been carefully airbrushed away, but it only made her look older. The red lipstick on her mouth was harsh against her marble pale skin, and the corset she wore pushed her breasts to new heights. There was nothing natural about this woman. She was but a poor imitation of her daughter.

"What do you know about her?" Jareth asked, entranced and disgusted by the woman with Sarah's eyes. For all intents and purposes, she was no better than Titania, seeking youth through artificial means; except Titania didn't look like a tarted up corpse. Most of the time, at least.

"Very little. I much prefer ballet and opera." Jareth rolled his mismatched eyes. Morgaine didn't prefer ballet and opera. She preferred ballerinas and prima donnas.

"Well, what do you know?"

Morgaine closed her eyes, falling silent. There was a moment of utter stillness, only interrupted by the magic mirror's angry growling. Why did she keep the thing around? It consumed small children as a _snack_.

"She's a movie star, praised for the depth and breadth of her talent, as well as her range. Despite said _range_, she largely plays stock characters."Morgaine's face twisted in a disgusted sneer. It appeared that the mother Williams was as overdone to her as she was to Jareth.

Stock characters. Damsels in distress, black widows, hookers with hearts of gold. Jareth scoffed, shaking his head in distaste. No wonder Sarah had been so extreme when he first met her. Her mother had molded her into the stereotypical tortured teenager. She was nothing but a stereotype herself.

"Why isn't she with Sarah now? I've seen that blond woman a few times, Irene or Karen-Something. They seem close."

Shrugging her shapely shoulders, Morgaine turned on her heel and walked over to her mirror. The looking glass was utilitarian piece, just a sheet of silver glass in an Amish-style apple wood frame. It was no taller or wider than the Witch Queen, and it looked rather innocent resting against the wall. Jareth suspected that it was made for her.

It looked rather innocent resting against the wall, but the air around it was cold, and smelled of dying leaves, stagnant pond water and wet mulch – scents long associated with poorly tended graveyards. It growled steadily, a low tremor that sounded like no animal or beast ever found. But as Morgaine came to stand before it, it quieted, swallowing all noise in the small basement. It ate Morgaine's footsteps and Jareth's breath. It even consumed the light bleeding from beneath the door at the top of the stairs, like a hungry black.

The surface of the mirror churned like a stormy sea, treacherous, unfeeling and deadly. Jareth suddenly understood why oubliettes were horrible places. They stole the captive's senses and bearing. The mirror took it a step further by stealing souls.

Suddenly, sparks flared and popped in one of Morgaine's hands. The silver and gold crackles of light bounced off the skin of her palm, circling her fingers like miniature fireworks. Jareth was entranced by the spell, by how skeletal his stepmother's hand appeared. The mirror reflected nothing, at least nothing he could see.

The mirror growled again, but this time it was almost human, rumbling unhappily. Jareth detected the beginnings of a spell, but when looked up, he saw that Morgaine was just reapplying her lipstick.

If she wanted to play makeup artist with the ancient mythical menace, that was fine. He was having no part of it.

However, if he had stayed, he would've witnessed the end of the spell. As he finished ascending the stairs, Morgaine bit the fingertips of her free hand so hard they bled. Bits of skin fell to the floor like broken paper, leaving exposed veins and shredded muscle. Dragging the exposed bone across the middle of the glass panel, she wrote something in a language long forgotten; but the mirror knew exactly what she was bloodily demanding.

_Show me the castle beyond the Goblin City._

* * *

There wasn't a goblin to be found. Their stench remained, as did some of their livestock, but the hideous little ogres had vanished. Hippolyta knew that Morgaine's two courtesans were to blame. They didn't even notice the Amazon as she brazenly walked through the throne room, barely three feet away from them as she crossed the small space. Diana had Bevin in a chokehold as they rolled around on the ground. Hippolyta had a feeling Morgaine wouldn't tolerate them for long.

A keen sense of smell and powers of deduction led her to the library with no trouble at all. For such a large castle, the room was remarkably small. It was only as big as a tennis court, with a relatively low ceiling. Three of the walls were shelved, while a fire roared in hearth carved into the fourth. A single leather chair sat right in the middle of the floor, a matching ottoman before it. It wasn't so much a library as it was a study.

The wild woman, with her knotted hair and muddy feet, was nothing more than a stain on the carpet as she waltzed right in. Compared to the manicured and tidy state of the small library, she was absolutely filthy. But, strangely enough, the library wasn't magical at all. It could nothing to her. There were magic books, but the space was as ordinary as a human library.

Crossing the threshold, Hippolyta's cold, birdlike eyes darted about the small space, looking for what she needed. She wasn't there of her own account. Rather, she was doing an old favor for an old friend.

"Do you know the name of the book?" she asked the air as she closed the door behind her.

'_No,'_ Morgaine's voice sounded from the fireplace. _'But there has to be something.'_

Hippolyta made a slight noise of agreement as she padded over to one of the shelves.

"Clio kept a record of anyone who came into contact with fairies. Jareth would be a fool not to keep a copy," Hippolyta said as she examined the titles on the shelf closest to her. "But he never actually touched Sarah. The Muse of History would not waste ink or paper on a dream. If only he had kissed her."

'_If only. I need to know as much as I can about Sarah Williams, outside of what she tells me in person. I cannot invade her thoughts here, not without injuring us both.'_

Hippolyta nodded, knowing Morgaine could see her. In her heart, Hippolyta longed to confess her suspicions. The Apple Queen (as Hippolyta called her) was a dear friend. There was always a place in Avalon for the Amazon. But she was also friends with Titania, and with no evidence to present, there was no other option but to keep her thoughts to herself. Until the time was right.

"There is a case above the fireplace," Hippolyta said as she looked across the room. "It is locked."

'_Use the skeleton key. It will fit any lock in the palace.'_

"What if I unleash something that needs to remain caged?" Hippolyta treaded to the case carefully, her gaze fixed upon it. She'd seen Morgaine's mirror, and knew better than to trust anything that belonged to a fairy.

'_Jareth is too wise to keep magic in his study. He probably has his own witching room.'_

The Apple Queen was right. The key did fit the lock, and undid every mechanism without a sound.

"None of the books have titles! How do I know which one is which?"

'_Just go through each tome one by one. It will reveal itself to you, especially if written by Clio. She always had a fondness for Ares.'_

Gritting her teeth, Hippolyta nodded and pulled the first book out.

"Not even my father can help us now."

* * *

Fall was Nutcracker season. It was a time for snowflakes, roses and whirling dervishes. Russia, Spain and China all assembled with the hope that for at least one night, there would be would peace. Sugarplums danced not only in dreams, but on stage. It was Patricia's favorite time of year.

She'd just finished the first Pas de deux between Clara and her Nutcracker Cavalier, the one that proceeded 'Waltz of the Snowflakes.' Her heart racing from exertion and excitement, she exited stage right, house left, hobbling into the wings on shaky legs. Everything hurt, and sweat was soaking her hair and lower back, but she had never been so happy.

"Great job Patty!" one stage hand said as she clumsily walked towards her dressing room. "Absolutely splendid!" another said, patting her clammy shoulder. She absorbed the praise like a sponge, a brilliant smiling lighting her reddened, perspiring face. Never, not even once did she receive such praise as a fairy. If she did, she couldn't remember it, for compliments were never offered with such enthusiasm and awe.

With the first act coming to a close, she'd have a few minutes of peace before the wardrobe crew would be swarming upon her with curling irons and fresh tights. The first thing she'd need is a glass of water, then deodorant. Despite her gossamer gown and pearl circlet, she smelled like a peasant.

" Seven minutes," one of the stage directors told her, tapping his watch pointedly. Patricia nodded, walking towards her dressing room with purpose. She had nearly cleared the green room when something sharply tugged on her long blonde curls.

"Ow!" she gasped, spinning around to reprimand whoever had touched her without permission. Even though she was a lowly human making very little money, once upon a time, she'd been a high princess of the fae world. No one even looked upon her without asking first. In fact, the only people she considered her equals were other Underground princesses. Which is exactly what the offender was.

"Lucinda," she breathed. Lucinda was another principal with the company, and like Patricia, was once a Seelie princess. It made for a very awkward work einvironment.

"I just wanted to warn you that your mother is waiting in your dressing room," the taller woman said with arrogance underwriting her simple statement. "You may want to get changed in the green room."

Offering up a snotty, simpering smile, Lucinda adjusted her bathrobe, slinking off to get ready for her role as Flora. Ugh, the woman was just a nuisance; but her mother was an absolute terror.

Patricia peered down the hallway, knowing what awaited her. Her parting with her mother had been less than pleasant. Titania had screamed, cut off all of her daughter's hair, and killed three of Patricia's former lovers. Sheer desperation had led Patricia to Avalon. She'd begged and begged Morgaine to turn her human, anything to escape her mother. Becoming a ballerina had just been a bonus.

With no magic to aid her, nothing could save her if Titania lost her temper. Sighing, she turned towards the green room, praying she'd be safe there. It had been so long since she'd had any contact with the Underground. All of the complicated spells and charms that enabled her to live a mortal life could fly apart if Titania revealed her true heritage. The people Patricia now called family would abandon her, she'd lose her job, and she'd have to go back to a world that now bored her.

Maybe she'd find pleasure in seeing her siblings again, but the only one who forgave her was Jareth, and he was far too busy to shield her from their parents.

* * *

In the safety of her bedroom, Sarah rinsed out her mouth with Dixie Cup after Dixie Cup of saline. It hurt like a bitch, but the doctor said salt would close any wounds that split open. She was afraid that her throat would never heal, and she'd always be bleeding, always be weak. Why couldn't things go back to the way they were? She wasn't exactly happy, but at least she was still a virgin.

Eventually the briny pain became totally not worth it, she flopped down onto her bed, staring up at her canopy with tear-filled eyes. There was a way, she realized, to go back in time. She knew someone who could reorder it. He'd done it for her before.

"Like he'll do it again," she whined, massaging her aching throat. Jareth had loved her, she realized with some sadness. Love me, fear me, do as I say... weren't those wedding vows, just another way of say love, honor and obey me? That's what Irene and her dad said when they got hitched.

And he'd said he'd be her slave. Weren't all husbands slaves to their wives?

What sort of marriage would they've had? Would it have been sunshine and roses every day, pancakes in the morning and tender loving care at night?

No, Jareth didn't seem like a small gestures kind of guy. He seemed more like the guy who'd buy a girl a Lamborghini on her birthday, only to call her 'babe' every other day of the year, or whatever the fairy equivalent of it was. But he would've loved her and kept her safe.

Her vision growing slightly fuzzy, she imagined that the mattress beneath her was her marriage bed, and that Jareth was just off in his dressing room, fumbling with his wedding clothes. Oddly enough, the thought of _being_ with Jareth didn't frighten her. But it didn't get her all hot and bothered either. It totally bummed her out, but Sarah figured she was eternally broken, and would have to become a lesbian.

Ms. Lafferty was pretty hot…

* * *

Review, review, review… TIME!

* * *

**GeeAnnaB**: Kissy kissy… goo goo?

**Sunscorched**: I am indeed a cat owner! In fact, she is my inspiration for Jareth. Her name is Schitzo, she's a bronze Egyptian Mau, and I am simply one of her servants. Her blasé and testy temperament remind me of Jareth so strongly, that I just knew Jareth would be a cat if he wasn't an owl. Besides, it's Salem and Morgaine's a witch. Of course she'd need a cat. Your review was great, nice and long. It made me all giggly.

**Jinx1764**: I briefly considered Jareth being a dog, but… no. Just no.

**Udrian**: I'm sorry you had to wait ten days. The ending of this chapter was just so hard to write. After Hippolyta's bit, I hit a complete roadblock. I had to throw in the bit about Patricia and Lucinda just to get some inspiration. Lucinda is also a real ballerina. Lucinda Hughey was a principal at the Pacific Northwest Ballet at the same time Patricia Barker was, and she looks very fairy-ish, all angles and height. It's fluff, and we won't be seeing her again, but damn it, I was _stuck_.

**Helikesitheymikey**: Hippolyta is fun to write. Whenever I envision her, I picture an actual Amazon – muscular, slightly masculine and very tall. The only way to make her uniquely feminine was to give her a very femininely pitched voice. Unfortunately, I cannot answer your questions. Sit tight, and see if they're answered in the story!

**Lady Gummy Bears**: Now go watch the Spoony One's critique. It's AWESOME.

**Writertron**: I couldn't imagine a magic mirror being anything but terrifying. I'd avoid the thing like the plague. And to answer your question… maybe!

**HazlgrnLizzy**: Was it?

**Kiruya**: Methinks said principle may cause trouble! But who am I to know?

**LadyGrey69**: Relax! Take a deep breath. Here's another chapter to abate the symptoms!

**Suchowriter10**: I couldn't write it. I literally couldn't write it. I can't even write about it in flashbacks. It's much easier to write about what happens next. Sarah still needs saving, but she needs a different kind of hero now. Jare-cat, hmmm? I smell a new nickname for the Goblin king!

**Bettybimbo**: I have to admit, I love your pen name.

**Chichi89**: Only if you'll review again. :)

**Lonely 27**: Here's more!

**Snowbirdyoukai**: Yep. I'm in for the long haul. However, I want to write a _real_ one-shot, one that I won't be tempted to continue. Maybe something warm and fluffy with a side of smut. Something for Christmas, perhaps?

* * *

I was pretty disappointed with this chapter. I'm getting to the point where the plot is beginning to appear, so it sucks that I still have to put in filler sections – like the interlude between Patricia and Lucindia. I was completely stuck. If at any point you have suggestions or idea that you think would be helpful or you would like to see written, feel free to tell me. I need the help sometimes.

Anyways, Happy Thanksgiving! I know you may have been expecting some sort of holiday special, and trust me, I wanted to give you one. But I much prefer Christmas specials, so you will be getting one of those.

Review early, review often, and have a happy post-Thanksgiving slumber.


	13. Chapter 13

'_Tell me, Morgaine – I know that Shakespeare is fae kissed, but who told him about Titania and Oberon?'_

"That's simple. Puck."

In the mirror, Hippolyta nodded and continued flipping through a book so slim it only looked to be fifty pages long. But it held over five-thousand years of information that could only be accessed when summoned. Morgaine watched the Amazon move about Jareth's study as a mortal would their television. She sat on the floor, a skin-colored candle burning and glowing in her uninjured hand. Every now and then, she would pour the pinky-peach liquid wax over the ragged holes where her fingertips had once been. The candle was made of human flesh, and the more wax that melted onto her fingers, the more the wounds healed.

'_How did Oberon react?'_ Hippolyta asked as she curled her legs beneath her. Jareth's chair could barely contain her long, muscled limbs.

Morgaine laughed, watching as her fingerprints steadily reappeared. She would have to shave off a few stray drops, but if she did it while the wax was still warm, there would be minimal bleeding, if any blood at all.

"He thought it to be great fun, although Willy Goat was far too kind in depicting Titania. I think that was when their marriage really started to fall apart." A particularly hot droplet had Morgaine wincing, the burn searing her to the very bone.

'_I think their marriage began to fall apart the moment Oberon met you.'_ Hippolyta's grin was wide and to quote some rather vulgar mortals, 'shit eating'. Morgaine was less than amused, her nut brown eyes narrowing in displeasure, and something else she didn't fully understand.

Oberon. Her husband, her best friend, her king. Meeting him was accidental. She was a bad fairy, an enemy to all things light and beautiful, a natural enemy to the Seelie king. But when Titania cast him into the sea after a terrible argument, it was Morgaine who saved him from the crushing waves. She spirited him away to Avalon, nursing him to health under the shade of her apple trees. He thanked her by leaving as she slept. The rest was history.

"Anything on Sarah Williams?" Morgaine pressed, her tone tight and unhappy. Thinking about Oberon made her insides flip and flop unpleasantly. Some may have called the uncomfortable feeling love. Morgaine called it hunger.

Hippolyta was silent for a moment, her icy eyes fixed on a particular page. Her fingertips renewed, Morgaine tossed the candle across the room, returning her focus to the mirror before her. The Amazon Queen looked pensive, disturbed even. Her thin mouth tightened into a wrinkled line.

'_No,'_ she said after a while, her voice deepening slightly. _'But there's an entire paragraph about Linda Williams.'_

* * *

The second act was a disaster. She was unsure of herself, uncomfortable with her fairy proportions and inhuman beauty. She'd wobbled her way through the dance of the Sugarplum fairy, minced awkwardly when her prince was steady and sure, and fallen nearly six feet during what had to be the worst lift she'd ever participated in. The crowd was sympathetic, blaming everyone but the former fae princess. Her boss laughed it off, calling her Boom Boom Barker before prescribing a hot bath and some rest.

But Patricia knew better. She wasn't tired, and it wasn't her partner's ineptness that had her drifting about in a fog. No, she was afraid, deathly so. There was no way she could face her mother, especially at work. So as soon as she had curtsied and accepted a heavy bouquet of roses before a cheering audience, she slipped out of her tutu, put on a bathrobe and bunny slippers, and hailed a taxi before anyone could stop her. When she reached her apartment, she overpaid the cabby by forty dollars in her haste to seek safety.

With stage makeup streaming down her still chilled, sweaty face, Patricia locked the door behind her, nearly collapsing onto the floor of her foyer in exhaustion.

Why was Titania seeking her out now? Lucinda was many things, but she wasn't a liar. If anything, the dancer would summon the fairy queen, just because it was funny. They were both human now, but Lucinda came from a family that loved teasing mortals. They hailed from Ireland, whereas Patricia's family called England theirs, not that they were truly English. They just claimed ownership of that island.

Patricia knew enough about her mother's wild mood swings that Titania meant business. Everything she did, she did with purpose, even if that purpose was completely insane. There was no misconstruing Titania's visit as impromptu.

Now that she was human, there was nothing Patricia could do if her mother unleashed her power. Titania wouldn't bother with the whole cat and mouse routine. She would just kill her daughter outright. Now that she probably only had another sixty years left, death was something Patricia feared.

"No, not now," she muttered as she stumbled towards her bedroom. "I can't handle this."

In the safety of her closet, hidden on the highest shelf in the darkest corner, was an ordinary wooden box with ordinary bronze hinges. Her stepmother's style was utilitarian when it came to gift-giving, but the box wasn't the important part.

After pulling the small case, no bigger than a shoebox, Patricia ran into the bathroom. She closed the door behind her, lighting a pine-scented candle. When she could smell the artificial sap, she stepped into her bathtub, hiding behind the curtain as she lifted the box's cover. Resting in the folds of the silken, indigo lining were three things only someone familiar with Morgaine would find remarkable.

There was the blossom of a violet-colored dog rose, still connected to its hip (the fruit of the flower). Next to it was a tiny hand mirror, the size and shape of a playing card. But instead of a queen, king or jokes on the back, there was a rose carved into the apple wood pane holding the silver glass. And finally there was an apple, a perfect, cherry red apple nearly as big as a grapefruit. Its species was unknown to humans, but all fairies knew it as the Jewel of Avalon, an apple so rare and valued that only three people had ever tasted it.

_King Arthur._

Patricia cradled the apple in both hands, entranced by the unnatural coolness spreading through her palms.

_Oberon._

Swallowing her fears, she lifted the apple to her lips, letting her mouth rest against the shiny, crimson skin. The scent of peppermint, chocolate and pure love filled her nostrils.

_And Morgaine._

After a moment's hesitation, she bit into the apple, the most exquisite flavor washing over her tongue. The apple was sweet but not sugary, tart but not sour. The taste was robust like the headiest of wine, but familiar like homemade sugar cookies. But as the first bit of fleshy pulp fell down her throat, the apple turned deadly. As if pained, Patricia's eyes watered, the world going fuzzy as she slipped into unconsciousness.

There was no going back.

* * *

"Although records no longer exist, it is suspected that Linda Williams **née** Clooney is descended from a selkie that was captured long before St. Patrick arrived in Ireland. Although it cannot be proven, her dark hair and green eyes are trustworthy evidence, especially considering her status a Leanan Sídhe consort."

"Whose consort was she?"

As soon as Linda Williams' name was mentioned, Morgaine was beside Hippolyta, reading over her shoulder in Jareth's study. The journey was easy enough. All she had to do was imagine her mirror as an open door, and step through it. A similar enchantment had turned Sarah's mirror into a telephone of sorts.

Hippolyta flipped through the pages before and after the entry about Linda Williams, but they were all blank. Morgaine said something absolutely foul under her breath, cursing Clio's tendency to leave out facts she deemed unimportant.

"There's nothing," Hippolyta said, sadness and frustration giving some age to her youthful voice. She tilted her head back to stare at Morgaine with sympathy lying in her crystal blue gaze. "Perhaps this means nothing?"

Morgaine shook her head, disrupting the curls caressing her cheeks.

"No. It means everything. Linda has only recently achieved fame. I suspect she wasn't overly talented until her liaison. You are certain there's nothing here about who fostered her?"

Turning back to the book, Hippolyta scanned page after page, looking for something, _anything_.

"It only says that she spent four years, by human reckoning, with her muse. It doesn't say whose wing she hid under." The book then wiggled its way out of Hippolyta's grasp, falling to the ground as it snapped shut. Clio's record was clearly done with them, anxious to go back to bed with its brethren. Morgaine obliged it, picking up the slim tome to put it back amongst all its literary friends. It slid into the book shelf with a sigh, falling silent as Morgaine closed the door to the case. There were several whirring noises as the intricate lock clicked back into place after spitting the skeleton key onto the carpet.

"This is ridiculous," Hippolyta smartly informed Morgaine as she picked up her silver key. It crumbled to dust in her palm, the fine silver grains irritating the fresh nerves still blossoming in her fingertips.

A few moments passed, with only the crackling of the fire breaking up their silence. Morgaine considered the sterling sparkles coating her palm, her gaze peering within and not outwardly.

"It is, all of it." Morgaine held her hand to her nose and exhaled heavily, clearing all traces of the key. Not a single granule of silver glitter reached the carpet. "But speak of this to no one."

"Is Sarah a fairy?" Hippolyta asked as she joined her friend by the hearth. Being nearly matched in height, they filled up the room with sheer size and raw power. Physical power on the part of Hippolyta, with ethereal power radiating from Morgaine. They were a credit to their gender.

"No, and she never will be. If Jareth succeeds, however, she will be something very close to one." Crossing her arms beneath her breasts, Morgaine turned her eyes to the fireplace, watching the flames as if they were speaking to her in ancient tongues (what a horrible pun).

"I owe Jareth a debt I cannot repay," the Amazon whispered after a moment. "After Theseus divorced me to court Phaedra, I swore never to lay with a man again. Then Hippolytus died, and I longed for children. Jareth gave me a set of female triplets who'd been wished away. They're waiting for me as we speak."

"Return to your children," Morgaine responded. "Our work here is done for now. There is somewhere I must be."

Before Hippolyta could even blink, Morgaine was gone, without so much as a popping noise. Any other woman would be afraid to be left alone in the Castle Beyond the Goblin City, but Hippolyta was an Amazon. She could find her way out of anywhere.

Especially when she had three daughters awaiting their supper.

* * *

It was snowing.

It was snowing!

Sarah watched in wonder as big fat flakes of downy happiness fell from the blackened sky. She'd woken up sometime after midnight, miserably cold since her room wasn't heated. When she went to grab a blanket from her hope chest, she noticed frost on her window pane. Then the snowflakes came, and everything was _good_.

Except for Prince Charming, who was glaring at her from what was becoming his usual perch. She didn't hesitate in letting him in. Before he could even shake off the delicate powder coating his ticked coat, Sarah snatched him up, ignoring his indignant yowl as she dashed back under the covers. As soon as he realized her intentions, he immediately relaxed, letting her cuddle him against her chest. She smiled, hoping the fine feline soaked up her warmth. The little thing was absolutely frozen!

"I don't care if you're upset. You shouldn't be out there when it's so cold." Prince Charming growled unhappily, his ears flat and rigid against his skull. What a diva.

In less than a minute, both she and the cat were soaked to the skin with melted snow. But Prince Charming only nestled himself even further into her hold.

"We didn't celebrate Thanksgiving this year," she rasped into her pillow, stroking his spine with her nails. They were short and blunt, but he seemed to enjoy the attention.

"Dad wanted to. He wanted the whole thing – the turkey, the yams, the stuffing, all of it. Toby did too. I know we didn't do anything because of me."

Prince Charming stiffened against her, before wiggling his way out of her arms. He grabbed onto her pillow with his claws, pulling himself from under the covers. Sarah thought he was going to run off, but all he did was step onto her bedside table and pull on the string attached to her lamp with his claws. The light bulb didn't ignite like it usually did. It flickered uncertainly, no brighter than a candle.

As he delicately padded back onto her pillow, Sarah was amazed. She knew that while she talked to him like he was human, Prince Charming was still a cat. But here he was, turning on lamps like he used them to read or something.

Her eyebrows had nearly disappeared into her hairline as he turned to look at her with a quizzical look in his eyes. _'Well? Go on,'_ they said. Maybe it was just wishful thinking, but he seemed like he genuinely wanted to talk to her. And if that's what he wanted, who was she to deny him.

"It's not like we do much. Mom can't cook very well. In fact, usually I make all the pies. Toby helps, but he likes licking the bowl more than he likes cleaning up. Last year we bought our turkey already cooked and carved. It was great. We parked ourselves in front of the television and watched football until 'The Wizard of Oz' came on."

The sweetness of the memory had her smiling, but it didn't warm her face or reach her eyes.

"But this year we didn't do anything. We all slept in, and had sandwiches for dinner." She could hear her own voice, and it was rough at best. 'Singer' was another career she could scratch off her short list (not that it was ever on it).

"Toby wasn't mad, but I know we need to do something amazing for Christmas. Do you and Ms. Lafferty do anything for Christmas? You could come over here." Why did she sound so eager to invite over her teacher? Sure, she'd entertained ideas of getting to know her teacher in all sorts of interesting ways, but none of them were at all appealing. Still, the older woman seemed like she could use a friend.

Prince Charming tilted his head much like a certain a king did, but instead of throwing a serpentine scarf at her, he reached out with one paw and gently tapped her nose. He was probably calling her a silly goose. But there was something about his soft touch that made her incredibly sleepy, but in the good sort of way. She trusted him to turn off the light before heading home.

* * *

No, he wasn't calling her a silly goose, he was asking about her nose. Why is it so narrow? Was it plastic surgery? Did somebody hit you?

Then she fell asleep, apparently soothed by the press of his padded foot. He would never understand women.

As her eyes slid closed, Jareth allowed himself a deliciously long once-over. Sarah had certainly filled out since her journey through the Goblin Kingdom. Her trim frame had been attractive, but her new curves were downright alluring. Fairy women considered themselves to be fashionably trim. Jareth found them downright sticklike. But in spite of the heaviness of her firm, round breasts, which fell appropriately (unlike her mother's helium filled implants), Sarah waist was far too tight. He could see the sharp outline of her ribs beneath her cotton nightgown. Hopefully she wasn't emulating Linda.

'_Oh precious thing,'_ he thought as he shook his head. _'What happened to you?'_

Rather than ponder the answer, Jareth curled up on her pillow, tucking his tail around his cold nose. With a mere thought, the lamp flickered off, as did her alarm clock. Tomorrow would be a snow day, and she deserved to sleep in.

He wished he could sing to her. Jareth knew several lullabies that would push her dreams in a pleasant direction. She would have to settle for a steady, rumbling purr.

Someday, _she_ would be the one purring in his arms.

* * *

Oh my goodness, I seem to have several reviews that need answering.

Should I answer them?

Yes.

Yes I should.

* * *

**Lost and Never Found**: Dark!Jareth is absolutely terrifying. Every time I read a story where he appears, at first I am totally into it. He can be absolutely hot. But the only time I stopped reading a story that was really well-written and engaging was one that featured a Dark!Jareth who liked humiliating Sarah through… well, spanking. The story was great, but he just scared the crap out of me.

I tend to prefer Sexy!Jareth, or Completely Devoted to Sarah!Jareth. He's much easier to handle. Also, I suck at writing hardcore bondage/humiliation sex. I SUCK AT IT.

**Artseblis**: It would totally be a cop-out, and if I went in that direction… POOF! End of story. And nobody wants that.

**Lady-Gummy-Bears**: Yor's World. He's one bad motherfucker!

Whenever people think magic mirror, we think of the ornate mirror with a friendly mask telling us that, yes, we are the fairest in the land, no matter how hideous that sweater is. Why though? A magic mirror is basically possessed. If I had one, I'd be calling for an exorcism.

**GeeAnnaB**: I think that if that scenario ever came up, Jareth would steal Sarah away to the North Pole, since Morgaine is probably better in bed. She could totally turn Sarah into a lipstick lesbian, and if that happened, poor Jareth would suffer from wounded puppy syndrome.

**Kiruya**: It would be one hell of a boxing match, you mean!

**Sunscorched**: Man, your reviews are just awesome. Completely and totally awesome. Where to begin?

I never imagined Linda as being particularly beautiful. I always pictured someone who wants to recapture the golden glory of black and white film vixens, like Veronica Lake and Lauren Bacall, but can only pull off Faye Dunaway in Mommie Dearest – harsh, thin and all freaky eyebrows.

Morgaine is so fun to write, but I can't wait to write about her when she's at her dark magic best. The whole lesbian thing is a hoot, but she's supposed to be evil. It's why she has candles made of human flesh and magic mirrors. If people think Jareth is scary, wait until they see an angry Morgaine.

Okay, so maybe the only thing scarier than an angry Morgaine is an angry Titania. Morgaine can at least control herself. Titania would probably resort to murder.

I will make sure that Jareth gives Sarah a hug for you. (teehee)

**TCMoore**: Probably longer than eight seconds, which is all a rodeo cowboy has to hand on for.

**Anbu Fox**: I should hope the story is neat. I pride myself on tidiness. I love vacuuming and proofreading, so… oh. You meant the story is nifty. Well, thank you!

**Writertron**: You shall know, NOW GET OFF YOUR ASS AND WRITE SOMETHING!

Okay, that was rude. Sorry. Ahem. At least Sarah isn't a shrinking violet, rejecting all human contact. That would be really depressing for everyone. It's funny how this story is beginning to veer towards humor…

**Lonely 27**: Okay!

**Helikesitheymikey**: I think this chapter answers your question! Patricia is turning out to be really handy. She's kind of like an escape clause. When I get stuck, I can bring her in until my brain starts working again. It would be kind of fun if she got to see her Dad again. I think I'll keep that in mind.

**Suchowriter10**:I'm not sure if Lucinda will hang around, but Patricia is here to stay. If she isn't, she'll certainly come and visit every once in a while. I don't want to introduce too many new characters. That would just boggle the mind. Hippolyta, Morgaine, Oberon and Titania will definitely be main players. Linda is a guest star, Jeremy is busy, and all the Williams family are regulars. However, it seems like there are way too many tits in the kitchen, so I think some fresh male blood is more than necessary.

**Gunitatsuhiko**: Drugs are bad, but fun. I'm glad you're staying with softcore narcotics.

**Chichi89**: I think I will add a male character, but he won't be one of the good guys. I need a villain stronger than Titania, and I'm pretty sure my best option is someone close to Morgaine. Can you think of an evil male character that is close to Morgana le Fay in the legend of King Arthur? You get brownie points if you can guess. You get an actual brownie if you can guess more than one.

**Bettybimbo**: Aren't cliffhangers exciting?

* * *

Okay folks, it's our annual review drive. Unfortunately, I ate all the cookies, but I still need reviews.

Seeya later!

And yes, Sarah and Jareth's part occurs after everyone else's, meaning some time has passed. Just a couple of weeks ago, but time nonetheless.


	14. Chapter 14

A peach for Jareth.

A cherry for Oberon.

A pear for Titania.

Once upon a time, a plum for Patricia

And, as always, an apple for Morgaine.

One bite was all it took to inebriate Patricia, her eyes rolling backwards as she slumped limply as a ragdoll in her tub. The candle's flame was extinguished as an invisible wind swept through her bathroom, and when she awoke, she was no longer in Seattle. She was in Morgaine's dreamscape, a place that lingered somewhere between life and death, sunset and sunrise, fantasy and reality.

When Jareth tempted Sarah, he crafted a fantasy that would be sure to tempt her. He wasn't restricted by Sarah's crystalline ballroom; he was limited only by his imagination. Morgaine, on the other hand, was not in the business of intoxicating young girls (at least while they slept). She had one space, and it wasn't easily accessed. Her apples were rare invitations, and they led to one place.

Patricia winced, rolling herself onto her back. The ground beneath her was covered with dry, stubbly grass and sharp edged rocks. Above her, slender stripes of sunlight beat down through her eyelids like the shining blade of a knife. Something was rustling in the wind, like bits of paper or confetti. Leaves?

Carefully opening her eyes, the former fairy princess rolled to her feet, brushing off the seat of her pants. It only took one quick glance to tell her that she was in some of orchard, but it wasn't neat and tidy like most orchards, like Avalon. The trees were gnarled and short, scattered over the hilly terrain with no visible pattern. It was almost like an average if sparse forest, but they were obviously fruit trees. Little green bunches of what looked like grapes hung from every twisted branch. But they smelled clean and almost sour, so they couldn't be grapes.

"They're olives," a voice said just a few feet away. Patricia looked in the direction of the sound. Instantly relieved to see her stepmother. Morgaine was dressed in a loose, one-shouldered royal purple gown with heavily jeweled embroidery on the shoulder and hemline. Her hair was woven around a silver laurel crown, and several braids were studded with actual diamonds.

"This isn't Avalon," Patricia began hesitantly. "Where are we?"

"I think the more important question is _when_ are we?" Morgaine's unadorned face was surprisingly unhappy. Although she wore melancholy well, it just didn't make sense.

"Fine. _When_ are we?"

"Jesus is being crucified right now."

A shocked gasp was ripped from Patricia's chest, her hands flying to her throat at the pain.

"This is Gethsemane?"

Morgaine nodded once, her long fingers carefully cupping a handful of olives. "No one will bother us here. No one ever has. What is troubling you?"

Off in the distance, Patricia swore she heard sobbing and cackling, but Morgaine seemed entirely unaffected, so she suspected that her mind was playing awful tricks on her. Words escaped her, trapped in her mouth where they rolled and died. There were jokes she wanted to tell, stories she wanted to share, and worries she wanted to unload. But even her mind was silent. Long minutes passed, maybe a lifetime of them, before her voice could function again.

"Titania was in my dressing room tonight." That sounded _so_ pathetic. Morgaine's god was being killed, and the most she could do was complain about her mother. No wonder her father thought her petulant.

"Did you visit with her?"

"No. I went straight home. Somebody had to finish the second act for me."

"Good girl." Sighing, Morgaine picked up the draped folds of her gown, pulling them away from her ankles as she walked further into the olive grove. Patricia nervously pulled at her long blonde hair, clearing her throat pointedly as she followed.

"Why are you dressed like Pontius Pilate when your savior is dying?"

"Would you like it if I washed my hands of you?" Morgaine snapped, her eyes dark and dangerous as she shot a nasty glare over her shoulder.

Soundly shy and beaten, Patricia shook her head. "I just want to know why she was there."

"You know I don't have an answer to that."

This high on the Mount of Olives, the small stone village was clearly visible. Its streets were empty and eerily still. Not even the wind disturbed the filth lining the curbs and barrows.

The two women came upon a dry, dusty boulder. The brush around it was flat and trampled, as if crushed under a dozen heavy boots. There was no mistaking where they were.

"Why do you come here, Morgaine? I know it takes mountains upon mountains of energy to come back to a moment in time. Why don't you just use your magic to create whatever you want?"

At Morgaine's feet lay a bloody Roman short sword, and beside it there was somebody's dismembered, bloody, decaying ear. She crouched beside it, her hands hovering and shaking over the weapon.

"I told you. No one comes here. No one will. And I'm not reordering time, so it doesn't take as much energy as you'd think. You, however, will be leaving very soon. Is there anything else you needed to tell me?"

"Do I need to be worried about my mother?"

"Not at all. Titania cannot easily travel Aboveground. She'd probably been saving that visit for hundreds of years. But thank you for telling me she was here."

Nodding, Patricia fell silent, awkwardly shifting as she got one last look at her surroundings. This was wrong, all of it. Evil Unseelie queens were not devout Christians. They did not travel back in time just to find a cozy hiding space.

As quickly as she entered the garden, Patricia could feel herself drifting away. Her eyelashes felt like lead, and before she could even say goodbye, she was back in her bathroom, the smell of pine sap heavy in the air. She lay in her bathroom, staring up at the blackened ceiling.

Nothing had been solved. Morgaine hadn't offered a single answer. Then again, Patricia hadn't truly asked any questions. How could she?

Tears gathered in the corners of her deep blue eyes, trailing hotly down her cheeks. She wouldn't leave the bathroom until the next morning.

* * *

It snowed for nearly three days straight, until everything was heavily frosted white like gingerbread houses. The skies were grey and flannel, blocking out the winter sun's meager light. And for three days straight, Jareth remained in the crawl space above Sarah's room, tucked comfortable about her pillows and blankets. Staying by her side, trapped in the body of a pussy cat, was agonizing to a man who long to dominate her in every sense. Thankfully she didn't feed him tuna or cat food. That would've been the ultimate humiliation. Sarah would quietly feed him whatever she happened to munch on, turning her back on him once she realized he hated by watched while he ate.

During his stay, he saw Sarah suffer through an emotion he never thought she'd have to endure again – fear. The slightest noise in the night had her sitting up ramrod straight, even if it was just her own sighing. If her father called from downstairs, she stood on the other side of the bed and answered his questions through the closed door. One day, she hadn't left her bed at all. She'd just curled up under the covers with her hands on her ears and rock back and forth until exhaustion set in.

At night, she held him close to her chest, and he beamed under the attention, even as a niggling doubt planted itself firmly in his mind. What would happen once she found out the cat she called Prince Charming was really the Goblin King? Would all be forgiven, or would he end up worse off than he'd ever been? The fear and paranoia were so overwhelming that he eventually left while she was sleeping.

It was hard, leaving her while she looked so at ease, so unguarded. She relaxed only at night. But on the fourth day, the sun broke through the clouds, providing enough light for city workers to scatter rock salt on the ground. With the roads cleared, the citizens of Salem could get back to school and work, and although everyone left their houses groaning, they still left, and life got back to normal.

Now that Morgaine was back at school, Jareth could finally do some investigating of his own. It was nearly Christmas, and as much as he wanted to celebrate it with Sarah, there was tasks that needed fulfilling. And so, as Morgaine left for school three days before winter break, Jareth put on his finest Aboveground attire, slicked his hair back, and purchased a train ticket.

_Les Misérables _was playing that night in New York City.

* * *

This is the attack of the really short chapter. My minimum is usually two-thousand words, but this isn't even fifteen-hundred. It's grossly unfair to all of you, but I just needed something to tide you over while I work on my Christmas special. And since it is _barely_ enough to count as a chapter, I think you all need a sneak preview of what is to come.

* * *

Not Too Much To Ask/River (Working Title)

God, what a mess she was, she realized as she turned off the water. The girl patting her hair dry in front of the mirror had grey skin and sleepy eyes, and black hair that was at best clean. But there was a wedding band on her finger, nicer than any other she'd seen before. For all appearances, it was understated if a bit weird.

The band was thin, made from some pristine white gold. It was the perfect canvas for three small, round stones of identical size, totaling in weight about a quarter-karat. The flanking stones were clear and crystalline blue, while the center one was a deep shade of seal brown. They looked like chocolate diamonds and sapphires, and they were, but they came from no mine. Jareth had scoured them from the scales of an ice dragon, the vainglorious bastard. Of course he'd go to the ends of the earth to find jewels that matched his eyes.

Not that he didn't work his butt off for his ring. Like Sarah's, his band was made of white gold, but it was textured like scales and wrapped around his ring finger three time in a serpent's coil. The head of the snake was set with two small emeralds that brought its eyes to life. Jareth thought it was a tremendous joke, always telling her how his fork-tongued bride scared off the unwanted advances of courtiers and courtesans alike.

* * *

Expect this sometime before Christmas Eve. Expect another chapter of Iris as well. Now how about we read some reviews?

* * *

**Rahpsody**: Guess who gets a brownie?

**Pikapoppy**: I hope it's not busy to the point of baffling. Sometimes I confuse myself.

**Kiruya**: You know how to make an author blush!

**Sapphire Vial**: They need to, do they? Hmm… I'll be sure to tell them that.

**GeeAnnaB**: … you're odd.

**Writertron**: The apple's riddle has been solved! Woohoo! And no worries about Sarah. Christmas is a time for cheer, no?

**MISS-DEATH-WAS-HERE**: Um, thank you, that's so nice of you! :)

**Chichi-89**: You know, you're allowed to say more. I honest to God wouldn't mind.

**Sunscorched**: My goodness! You shouldn't be reading if you're sick! I insist you go sit down and have hot water flavored with honey and lemon. Go on now. I'll wait.

I suppose you're right. Morgaine certainly has more tricks, and isn't afraid to use them. And if you think about it, Sarah and Jareth have a lot in common. They're both fairly petulant and childish, employing any tactic they can to win. Jareth used a peach while Sarah constantly sought out the help of others.

**Helikesitheymikey**: I _totally_didn't think about that. This should make things very interesting!

**Lonely 27**: That's for me to know and you to find out.

**LittleRin26**: Heya! Welcome to the party! Thank you for the review. Happy holidays to you as well.

* * *

Okay everyone. Hold tight. A Christmas special is on its way.


	15. Chapter 15

Hey everyone! The Christmas Special is now up, and it is titled Not Too Much to Ask. Here is the newest chapter of Iris.

* * *

"I know that homework is the last thing you want to worry about over Christmas break, but I just want to remind you that your essays are due January third. Your papers will follow proper Modern Language Association formatting and must be at least seven pages long, with no less than seven sources besides your textbook."

A chorus of groans sounded from Ms. Lafferty's students as she scribbled something on the blackboard, minus Sarah of course. She wasn't even paying attention. Throughout the whole lecture, she stared unseeingly at her schoolbook, never turning a page. A heavy dose of fear and sadness had her heart beating like a jackhammer in her stomach.

That morning, when she woke up, Prince Charming was gone, just _gone_. It didn't make any sense. The window was locked, and he wasn't downstairs or in her personal attic. Her mom wasn't going insane, so he hadn't crossed Irene's path. He'd just vanished. By the time Sarah had darted outside to see if he'd gone back to his house, Ms. Lafferty was already gone, and not a single feline footprint could be found.

Prince Charming had vanished into thin air, and Sarah felt absolutely awful. To make things worse, she had to tell her teacher the truth.

"For those of you who qualify for the honors section of this course, our first meeting will be at my home Saturday around six p.m., and we will decide what we'll be focusing on once school resumes. Be safe and have a merry Christmas."

The students took that as their cue to leave, and they fled the classroom like rats leaving a sinking ship. Within a minute, Sarah and her teacher were the only ones left. Ms. Lafferty shook her head as she eyed the apples some of her pupils left for her.

"Do you need something, Sarah?" she asked politely as she started packing away her folders and books. Her brown eyes were warm pools of melted chocolate behind her Windsor spectacles. Sarah was pretty sure Ms. Lafferty wore glasses because they looked cool, not because she needed them.

"I… well that is…" Sarah's already faulty voice didn't seem to be working properly, though it had nothing to do with her damaged vocal chords. There was something frightening about her teacher. The woman was nothing but grace and poise, but at times she was too calm, too still, like an assassin or vampire. Sarah could only imagine how scary it would be to see an unhinged Morgan Lafferty.

"Out with it, child! I haven't got all day. It looks like more snow is about to set –"

"I lost your cat!"

Flinching, Sarah buried her face in her hands, praying that Ms. Lafferty would only sentence her to detention and not hell.

"You mean Jare… Albert? I haven't seen him in days."

Peeking through her fingers, Sarah glanced at her teacher with a furrowed brow. What had she started to call her cat?

"That's because he was with me. But this morning, I woke up and he wasn't there."

Ms. Lafferty drew to her full six feet, staring down her slightly upturned nose with an almost haughty sneer. Sarah felt tiny and insignificant, not to mention scared shitless. She cowered in her seat, trying to slide to the floor in a boneless puddle. The air grew cold and thin, chilling her to the bone.

"Why don't we go back to my house and discuss this over tea? I'm sure we can clear some things up."

Sarah gulped.

_Shit_.

* * *

Some sick, twisted part of her was excited to be going home with her teacher. Ms. Lafferty was universally liked by nearly everyone at school. The boys thought she was hot and the girls thought she was totally rad. She was like Madonna or something.

The other part of her was scared shitless as Ms. Lafferty held the front door open for her. The rush of hot air that blew out from the foyer was warm, but creepy as all hell. The house was dark and quiet, so there wasn't a fire. The furnace wasn't on either.

"Come on in. I'll put the kettle on."

Her mouth dry as sand, Sarah swallowed heavily, the knot in her throat bobbing slightly. She stepped into the entrance hall with all of the enthusiasm of a man walking to the electric chair.

The door closed behind her with an unnaturally loud snap. As Sarah took off her down coat, she discreetly took in her surroundings.

There wasn't any iron that she could see. All of the hardware was gleaming copper, which was odd, since it looked really old. It should've been green by now, but it looked brand new. Even the nails in the floor were copper. The only other metal she could find were several antique silver teaspoons stuck into the coat rack that was mounted on the wall opposite the door. It brought to mind daydreams about fairies. Maybe it was to keep werewolves from taking off their capes and gloves.

"Can you believe that the snow let up just enough for only one day of class before Christmas vacation? It astounds me," Ms. Lafferty said airily as she shed her coat. "All I had time to do was assign more homework."

Before she could say no, Sarah felt Morgan's hands on her shoulders. With brisk efficiency, she pulled down Sarah's jacket, hanging it on one of her spoon hangers. Even in her turtleneck and cardigan, she felt incredibly naked.

"At least we'll have a white Christmas?" Sarah replied as she unraveled her thick knitted scarf from around her neck. She tucked her matching mittens into her schoolbag.

"And chestnuts roasting on an open fire. Now, I have rosehips already prepared, but if you prefer black tea, I have some prepackaged tea bags."

"I've never had rosehip tea, so that sounds good."

With a cheeky grin, Ms. Lafferty began walking presumably towards the kitchen. Somewhat afraid (okay, _really_ afraid), Sarah followed her.

Her teacher's kitchen was fairly normal. The counters were butcher block and the cabinets were whitewashed. A cheery shade of yellow paint made the walls glow like buttercups, and Moroccan tiles patterned with blue evil eyes lined the backsplash behind her stove. Ms. Lafferty even had a full-sized brick oven perfect for bread and pizza.

"So Albert was with you all this time?" Ms. Lafferty asked as she fluttered around the small space. She filled a copper kettle in the stone sink, set it on the burners and pulled out porcelain cups and saucers. As Sarah sat down, she hung her head, downtrodden and morose. She liked the cat. He was a sweetheart.

"He was, but this morning he was gone, and I didn't see any paw prints leading to your house."

"I'm not surprised. Albert isn't exactly fond of me. I don't doubt that he had a marvelous time staying at your side."

Marvelous or not, he was gone. Sitting down at the small café table, Sarah fought down tears by checking out a set of rickety bookshelves. They were heavy with cookbooks by Paul Prudhomme, Jeff Smith and Julia Child, but there were several mysterious leather bound notebooks that smelled kind of dangerous, like gun powder and paprika. None of them, not even the normal recipe books, inspired confidence in Sarah.

"Don't worry about the cat," Ms. Lafferty assured Sarah as she placed a tea cup before her. The tea kettle hadn't even whistled, but fragrant steam wafted from the surface of the tea. Freaking weird.

"But I _lost_ him." Sarah voice was choked and thick with tears. "He's not very big."

Sighing, Ms. Lafferty slid into the chair opposite Sarah with liquid grace.

"He's bigger than you think, and much more powerful. I assure you, he'll be back, and you'll be the first one to know." For a few minutes, they just sat and sipped rosehip tea, which Sarah found to be fruity without being too sweet or citrusy. It almost tasted the way roses smelled, only much more robust.

"What happened to your voice?" Ms. Lafferty asked without warning. Sarah nearly dropped her cup, coughing as some tea went down the wrong pipe. Morgan didn't even bat an eyelash as her students sputtered like a faulty engine. "It always seems to be sore, even though you never complain. I suspect that it has something to do with that scar beneath your chin."

Ms. Lafferty didn't miss a thing apparently, even when she wasn't looking. One of Sarah's hands flew to her throat, fluttering over the thin, milky-silver imperfection with some embarrassment. It was still and would always be ugly.

"There was an accident while I was still living in New York," she began with hesitation. She needed a lie that seemed plausible. "And I cut my neck from ear to ear."

If Ms. Lafferty didn't believe her, she wasn't saying anything. She just kept her eyes trained on Sarah's face. Continuing on with her fib was becoming increasingly difficult.

"My vocal cords weren't cut during the accident, but they were damaged during the surgery. They're still healing, but there's some scarring, and because of that I'll never sound like I used to." Sarah couldn't keep the note of bitterness out of that statement. "The doctor called it dysphonia, which means I'll always sound rough and kind of breathless."

"I'm sorry to hear that, but I think I might have something that can help with the pain." Gathering their empty teacups, Ms. Lafferty stood back up and deposited the porcelain mugs in the sink. She walked over to one of her upper cupboards, and before Sarah could examine the contents of the shelves, Morgan had pulled down a mason jar. It was filled with honey and large bits of honeycomb.

Then she wandered over to a set of doors Sarah hadn't noticed before, and when Ms. Lafferty open them, the cloying scent of herbs, flowers and spices filled the room like smoke. Sarah heard drawers opening and closing, and when Ms. Lafferty emerged, her arms were laden with boxes and little cloth bags. Hanging from her neck was a chain of woven flowers that Sarah couldn't identify.

"I fully endorse modern medicine, it does wonderful things, but I still prefer holistic home healing whenever I can use it. It isn't very good for people with allergies, but it's great for everyone else. You don't have allergies do you?"

Sarah shook her head, and Ms. Lafferty promptly dumped all of her treasures on the table. Barely a minute passed before she sat back down, with skein of butcher twine, a thick roll of cheesecloth, and a sterling silver paring knife all carried in a large wooden bowl.

"The jar is full of honeydew comb honey. As you can see, there are still bits of honeycomb in it. I recommend chewing those like gum. They're rather tasty."

Picking up the jar, Sarah looked for any remnants of bees and other insects. When she couldn't find any, she placed it back on the table. It didn't _look_ poisonous…

"What's honeydew? Do you mean the fruit?"

Placing the twine, knife and cloth on the table, Morgan started filling the bowl with mysterious dried flowers, fresh leaves and pinch upon pinch of mysterious spices. Most of them were red and brown, although one was bright blue. Those _did_ look poisonous.

"Not at all. Honeydew honey does not come from nectar. It comes from a substance called honeydew, which is the sweet secretion of aphids. It's like sugar poop, but honey is bee spit. Aphids were domesticated by ants and bees long before cows were domesticated by humans, but they're still pests, so ladybirds must be introduced to, well, eat them before they become too numerous."

"What did the aphids that made this honey eat?" The bowl of mystery ingredients smelled pretty tasty, now that she'd calmed down a bit. She could detect cloves, nutmeg and anise, but there were other earthy and nutty fragrances she couldn't quite identify. Ms. Lafferty offered a small smile full of secrets.

"Nothing dangerous, my dear. They only ate good plants with healing properties. You are in no harm of getting sick." After tossing the ingredients together with her bare hands, she gave it one final look, and started carving the cheesecloth into little squares. Sarah watched, fascinated as Ms. Lafferty's hands moved with a surgeon's precision.

"You'll drink this like tea – one cup a day for two weeks. Flavor it with one tablespoon of the honey. It should help with the soreness, but if it doesn't, it tastes very good." Using her fingers as a measuring spoon, she separated the dried mixture into the cheesecloth squares, using the twine to tie them into teabag sized pouches. They smelled wonderful, and looked like little presents, but Sarah was still wary. There was one thing she was dying to ask, but was slightly afraid to. But there was no moment like the present.

"Are you a witch, Ms. Lafferty?"

* * *

Ho ho ho! It's review time!

* * *

**GeeAnnaB**: Once, my idiot cat hopped into the shower, not knowing I'd turned the tap on to get the hot water flowing. So… yes, yes they do.

**Piratecheif**: He'll probably bring her a dead rat or something, which is what my cat gives me for Christmas.

**Kiruya**: Titania will have her fifteen minutes of fame, but not yet. I don't think her entrance will be very graceful. And you should go and read the Christmas special. You could leave a review too!

**Chichi89**: Maybe she got help, maybe she didn't. But now we know where Morgaine goes when she doesn't want to be found. And thank you for your wonderful review you wrote for Not Too Much to Ask. It was great.

**LittleMaragarita**: Of course he has good taste. He's Jareth! But there is something important about Les Miserables. Look for the clue in previous chapters.

**Basupporter**: Choosing mythologies was fairly simple. I stayed almost exclusively with fairies. Like one of my reviewers pointed out earlier, most Labyrinth fans accept the Shakespearian characters Titania, Oberon, Puck and Hippolyta as appropriate stand-ins, considering there are only two major humanoid characters – Jareth and Sarah. It's never truly revealed in the movie that Jareth is a fairy, but Brian Froud designed all the characters, and he's known for his fairies, so we safely presume that Jareth is a fairy.

I also included the Arthurian legends of Arthur and Morgana le Fay because Morgana is a fairy. It's a good idea to pick characters that people already know than to create new ones, because new characters can seriously bog down a story if you don't plan on it being too long.

**LadyNorth76**: Thank you! I hope you enjoy this chapter.

**Dragon Ashes**: Oh, I believe you. There's a very small goblin that lives just outside my window. He's very cute, almost pixie-like in appearance. But he comes into my room at night and leaves crumbs in my bed. Not only that, he logs onto my computer and undoes all of my proofreading on my stories!

**Writertron**: Some things do make sense! Others don't! YAY! My master plan is working! I can't wait to read your newest addition to your library, but in the mean time, check out the Christmas special. It was twenty-two pages long in my word processor.

**GoDrinkPinesol624**: I think a few other people may be crushed.

Physically.

**Lonely 27**: Thank you for reviewing the other story. Happy holidays to you too!

**EunHee Kim**: And here is some more for you.

**ChocolateFrizz89**: My beautiful 'owner' Schitzo is the model, except her eyes are vibrantly gold and green. She's a complete and total bitch, but I love her anyways.

* * *

Anyways, Happy Christmas Eve! Go check out Not Too Much to Ask. There will be an update posted to it tomorrow, and then it will be over. So go read and review now!


	16. Chapter 16

It was only a quickly conjured steadying spell that kept Morgaine from slicing her carefully manicured fingers right off. Sarah _had_ to have been some manner of magical creature. She just had to. How else would she be able to pick up on things she'd never encountered before?

"Are you wondering if I'm a good witch, or a bad witch?" Morgaine said with a teasing note in her laughter, but Sarah, it seemed, was having none of it. Her face was a frightening blank, even if her shoulders were rigid with fear. What a match she made for Jareth!

For once, it was Morgaine who grew uncomfortable under the weight of a mortal's stare. She had to admit that Sarah was at least equal parts bravery and foolishness. Busying her hands with her homemade tea parcels, she stopped smiling, but a frown did not appear.

"You should pick your words carefully, Sarah. Once upon a time, a witch was just a disliked person pursued by religious zealots. Now, the word 'witch' has many meanings."

Sarah's eyes lowered to the table, following Morgaine's nimble, elegant hands. Now she was skittish, a bundle of nervous energy wrapped in a green turtleneck. Her bubblegum mouth was pinched into a little frown that had Morgaine feeling like the worst sort of monster.

"Why don't you tell me why you think I'm a witch, and I will tell you if you're close?" It wasn't a yes, but it wasn't a no either, which was a typical fairy response. When in doubt, skirt the truth without telling outright, blatant lies. A moment of complete and utter silence passed in which the two women stared each other down, like two gunslingers in an old west dual.

"You wear all black," Sarah ventured, her sandpaper voice rasping along timidly. "You just made me tea with spices I don't even think have names. What was that blue stuff?"

Morgaine couldn't even chuckle.

"That could just make me a hippie."

Sarah shook her head, her shorn black locks fluttering around her shoulders like raven feathers.

"Your cat is more human than most of the people I know, and your roses grow even in winter." A twinge of accusation had crept into that statement, and Morgaine quickly found she did not like having her motives questioned. It left a bitter, acrid taste in her mouth. But she handled the situation with the poise of the First Lady.

"Then I suppose I am a good witch, if the only thing I set out to do is grow flowers in the snow."

The mossy green of Sarah's grew decidedly darker, nearly stagnant as the frown on her face grew sharper.

"So you are a witch."

Ah, so she wanted a _confession_, an admission of guilt. Well, if the lady insisted.

"Indeed I am, but not in the manner you think. I have no magic broomstick or pointed hat. My skin is not green and I have not a wart to my name. But I have a talent most witches would die for."

"And what is that," Sarah said in a show of false bravado, her chin tilting upwards. The little show of defiance highlighted the shadows that painted her neck black and white. Morgaine regarded her in silence for a moment, her voice barely above a whisper when she finally did respond.

"I know when you're lying."

* * *

Okay, so, it was left at the big tree with the cracked trunk and left at the boulder with the moss on it.

Or was it right at the big tree with the moss on it and left the boulder with the crack?

Well, it didn't really matter, because Toby was hopelessly lost. Knowing which rock, tree or creek to turn at wouldn't help him, because the five-year-old had the directional skills of Barbie doll.

Why couldn't he be like GI Joe?

He was in a forest. He knew that much. His quest for the ultimate sister-destroying snowball had led him to the woods just behind the house. Whenever he asked, Mom said no, so this time he just didn't ask. While Mom and Dad were busy buying food for dinner (hopefully not the stuff she put in her icky oyster stuffing), he'd put on his boots and coat and went marching off into the wild blue yonder, where he promptly got lost. It wasn't so bad though. Everything was white and fluffy like marshmallow foam. If only he'd brought his sled, the plastic one that looked like a surf board…

"Frosty the Snowman was a jolly happy soul, with a corncob pipe and a button nose and two eyes made out of coal," Toby sang under his breath, horribly off key. He knew how bad he sounded, but it sure beat the quiet. Living with two sissy girls and a dog made for all sorts of big noises, although lately it hadn't been too loud. Still, there were songs on the radio and cars beeping all over the place, so he just wasn't used to how dead trees could sound. Toby believed that trees could talk to each other, so these ones must've had sore throats.

Any time he heard a bird going cuckoo, he prayed it was Jareth. Someone big and scary like the Goblin King could whisk him home lickety-split. But Jareth was gone. He'd been gone since morning, when he left Sarah's room.

It was kind of cool and totally weird to think that Jareth might ask Sarah to marry him. Being the Goblin Queen would be rad, minus the being a girl part. The Labyrinth would be the coolest place to play hide and seek or capture the flag.

Toby didn't exactly understand why, but for some reason, he knew things. He saw and heard stuff no one else did. Once, he'd made this crystal clear marble appear out of thin air, and when he threw it at the wall, it turned into a chocolate bar. That was the best day of his life.

Then there were the memories of a day spent in the Labyrinth, being held the Goblin King. Jareth wasn't Dad. Dad was Dad. But Toby knew that if Sarah got all lovey dovey with Jareth, and if they were boyfriend and girlfriend, he hoped they would take him to the Goblin City. Jareth could be the Dad, even if he wasn't Toby's dad. They could all be a family, even if they didn't get to watch television or go to the movies.

For some reason though, he couldn't see what happened to Sarah, why she'd been at the hospital for so long. There were vague, fuzzy images, and they were all bad. They featured dirt and a bottle for some reason. Weird.

Sarah was everything to him, even though the jerk face had wished him away, just because he was crying. And if she were here right now, they'd probably be home by now.

"Oh my, a little boy. Where is your mother, child? She is probably sore for you as we speak."

Squeaking like a little girl, Toby spun around, but with all the snow around his ankles, he ended up falling to his knees. Sitting on the boulder with the moss growing on it was a lady, if she could be called that. She wore a long coat made of extremely fluffy white fur that was belted with a silver chain. Her feet were bare, so she was probably naked underneath.

Ew.

Ew.

_Ew_.

"You don't need to know where my mom is. Go away." Toby didn't like the lady in the fur jacket. She looked normal, but she wasn't. Her long yellow hair was pulled into a too-tight ponytail that stretched her face until it was smooth as a pancake.

Turning her head this way and that, the lady stared at him like Merlin stared at bacon bits. Her blue songbird eyes had no black centers (pupas?), and they could peer into his very soul. Jareth had one eye like hers, but at least it had the donut hole in the middle.

"Very well. But I need you to deliver a message for me." Her accent was English, but she wasn't from London. She wasn't from anywhere. Toby suspected she just appeared one day.

"No."

Oops.

Wrong answer.

The golden-haired lady's face was a terrible mix of rage and hunger, and even though she was itty bitty, she loomed over him like a giant. When she stood up, the wind began to blow it stirred about the snow, making it seem like a fresh blizzard had rolled into town.

"You will tell Jareth that I know where he is, and that if he fully pursues your sister, I will ride out on a pale horse. Death will gallop at my heels, and there will be no respite for the living."

In a flourish of snow and wind, the lady was gone. The rock she'd been sitting on was covered in a thick sheet of blue ice, and the tree branches above her were white as bleached bone. Toby, however, counted it as a victory.

Because the lady in the fur coat hadn't given him her name.

What a dweeb.

* * *

_I know when you're lying._

_You're lying._

Fuck.

"I'm not lying," Sarah all but whimpered, a fiery blush burning its way up her throat.

Mw. Lafferty pulled a face that read both malicious glee and annoyance. "Yes you are. Right through your teeth."

Mentally counting to ten, Sarah tried to focus on breathing normally, on acting normally. But Ms. Lafferty was making it ridiculously hard with her steely gaze. Sarah's whole life experience was laid out there on the table, and she couldn't even see it. But her teacher could.

"That scar on your neck was put there on purpose," the older woman said as she draped one arm on the table, her fingertips drumming along the mahogany surface.

Sarah's shoulders were frozen with all the tension of a violin strung too tightly. Only a moment ago, she was on top. She had the upper hand. Now Morgan held all the cards, and Sarah knew that she wasn't about to deal any aces. Thankfully, she didn't take all of Sarah's chips. Just some of them.

"You don't have to tell me now," Ms. Lafferty sighed, sounding bored with the conversation. "But you will someday. I guarantee it."

Seconds marched by as the two women just stared at each other, sizing the other up, looking for weaknesses. Sarah couldn't find a single one. Ms. Lafferty, however, must've seen every single crack in Sarah's glass façade.

A shadow slipped across Ms. Lafferty's suddenly cool brown eyes, but when it passed, she was smiling as if nothing had happened. She'd won, after all.

"We shall have tea together from now on," she smarmily informed Sarah as she gathered up her homemade teabags. "Come back tomorrow, and we'll start with your… _treatment_."

The unspoken 'or else' was as loud as the running faucet as Ms. Lafferty rinsed out their cups in the sink. Recognizing this as an appropriate time to go, Sarah pushed herself away from the table, darting down the hallway towards her coat and safety. She was inches away from the door when Ms. Lafferty hammered in the final nail in Sarah's coffin.

"Come back at three tomorrow afternoon. Bring cookies."

* * *

In his finely tailored suit, with his hair slicked smartly black, Jareth looked completely at ease checking his coat at The Broadway Theatre. All around him, women in cocktail dresses ordered champagne and tittered coyly on the arms of their dates. Waiters in black ties and white tails had plates of elegant hors d'oeuvres.

'Linda Williams is singing tonight!' they praised. 'She will be splendid as Fantine.' 'Linda Williams is the finest mezzo-soprano of our generation.'

How insipid these mortals were! They worshiped fame, without any thought to substance. What would they say when they found out their beloved starlet all but abandoned her only child? If they were to see Sarah, brittle and unhealthy, would Linda Williams still be their idol? Children were so beloved by fae, that had Sarah been living in the Underground, she would've been promptly adopted (even though she was almost an adult). Not here though. These people were callous and cruel.

Suddenly the chandeliers above the patrons dimmed and then relit. Ticket in hand, Jareth meandered over to the elevators, boarding the one that would take him to a private balcony.

It was time to meet Sarah's mother, horrible woman she may be.

* * *

Reviewer responses coming up next!

* * *

**Lost and Never Found**: Cats may be grateful that you've found them, but they're still unrepentant for getting lost in the first place. Kiruya: Expect more Sarah/Morgaine face time in the next chapter as well. Teehee.

**Jinx1764**: Jareth has found Linda. Expect oodles of drama.

**Chichi89:** Poor Sarah should be afraid. Very afraid.

**GeeAnnaB**: Very funny.

**Gunitatsuhiko**: I'm not even sure what that confrontation will look like.

**LadyNorth76**: Shorter chapters get posted more quickly, but I'll try to make them longer.

**LittleMargarita**: Sarah doesn't seem like the kind of girl who tiptoes through the tulips. She was always fairly confrontational in the movie. And yes, things are unfolding! Slowly, but they're still unfolding.

**Helikesitheymikey**: Two angry women are scarier than one, after all.

**EunHee Kim**: They're one of mine, too! And even though they don't get together in the movie, it's generally accepted that they at least could. Squee!

**Writertron**: So much for getting her mother's acting talent.

**Lonely 27**: Yes. I am evil, aren't I?

* * *

Hey everyone. I will be on vacation from January 2, 2011 to January 10, 2011. I will hopefully post at least two more chapters by then, and I will try to write two while I'm gone. Review heavily, and maybe I'll post three chapters. Happy New Years!


	17. Chapter 17

Sarah couldn't get out of there fast enough. She was a cat on a hot tin roof, and the last thing she wanted to be was burned. Going into Ms. Lafferty's was a dumb idea. Would she be doing it again? Oh no, absolutely not. It didn't matter if she was Sarah's teacher and neighbor; she was apparently a witch, sans broom of course. Dear God, could her life get any more fucked up?

"Sarah! There's a witch in our backyard!"

Apparently it could, because when Toby came barreling towards her, he caught her knees in a chokehold and knocked the both of them to the sidewalk.

Which had already been swept and salted.

Oh _man_, that hurt.

"Would you get off of me you big oaf!" she scolded in a tone she usually reserved for a disobedient Merlin. Being knocked ass over teakettle by a five-year-old could make a girl cranky.

"But there's a witch! She's out back! I saw her just now!"

Maybe it was the fireworks crackling across her hazy vision, but Sarah wasn't exactly thinking clearly as she replied, "But Morgan is still in her house."

Toby hopped on her chest, straddling her rib cage. He caught her scarf in his little hands made bulky by _her_ gloves, and started shaking her like a baby doll. If somebody were to walk by, they'd see a kindergartener strangling his babysitter to death.

"No, not that witch, a different witch! Wait, what were you doing in the bad fairy's house? She'll grind your bones to make her bread!"

Every time Toby shook her, he cracked her head against the cement, albeit very gently. It still hurt like a bitch though.

"Toby, those are giants," Sarah groaned, crossing her arms beneath her skull. If he slammed her one more time, it'd be one right hook right to the moon. Why did people have little brothers again?

"It doesn't matter! There's a witch in the woods, and she says that if Jareth sees you again, she'll… oh no, I forgot that part!"

Wait.

Hold the phone.

"How the hell do you know Jareth?"

* * *

After dragging Toby up to her room by his collar, she locked the door and closed all the blinds. The tower was nearly completely black, but that still wasn't enough. With all the strength of a body builder, she hoisted her brother into the tiny attic space, and snapped the trapdoor shut behind them.

"Start talking, pipsqueak, or I'm feeding all over your Christmas presents to Merlin," she breathed as she pulled a blanket over their heads. The tower was too high for most people to peer in, but there were still windows that… flying monkeys could peak into or something.

Very little sunlight bled through the heavy down comforter, but she could still see Toby's eyes drop to his hands.

"I know you wished me away to the Goblin City."

For a minute there, it was as if all the air left the room in a strong gust. Neither of them could move, and Toby was so still he looked like a statue.

"You read that in a book, Toby." As reassuring as her tone was, she knew it wasn't Toby she was comforting.

"No, I didn't… well, I did, but that's not what happened. You wished me away, but then you got me back." His face was drawn with worry. He looked like a wounded puppy as he turned those baby blues on her. "You fought for me, Sarah. It's why I'm not mad."

The sadness and admiration in his voice, the anxiety in his eyes, turned and twisted Sarah's insides into a mess of knots. She felt like puking. This was all so much to take in. But what hurt the most was knowing that Toby loved her, even though she'd once been the source of his fear and pain.

"I don't know what happened to you in the Labyrinth, but you won, and that's all that matters."

What could she say to that? What would make what she'd done okay? And how had he found it before her? She had yet to forgive herself for being such a bitch, but Toby was already over it.

She didn't mean to cry, but the tears came nonetheless, blinding her with their swiftness and intensity. But Toby, the soldier that he was, simply hooked his hands around the back of her neck, and pulled her forehead until it was resting against his. He hummed some sweet little song to her, letting her tears gather in his lashes and spill down his cheeks.

"I am so sorry," she sobbed so lowly she wasn't sure he heard her. Her soft voice grew pained and husky. "I'm such a monster."

"But you're my monster," he said with authority. "So you're stuck with me until I choose to slay you."

To her surprise, that little childish statement made her infinitely better. As the worst of her crying tapered off, he just held her, every now and then scratching behind the ears like he would Merlin. Toby was a kid, he wasn't equipped to deal with adult grief. So of course he try and make her feel as good their dog felt after a nice belly rub.

"How do you remember any of this? You weren't even three years old yet." As much as she wanted to bury her head in the sand, she was ready to talk again. For the first time in months.

"I just do," Toby mumbled with a shrug. "I know a lot of stuff you don't… although I'm not sure how _you_ know the tall lady next door is a witch."

Wiping her face with one corner of the blanket, Sarah shook her head. "I didn't really know, Toby. I just said that to her to be rude."

"But she is!" he interjected quickly. "And a very bad one. She's the Wicked Witch of the Best."

"You mean West."

Toby growled.

"Who cares? She's still really evil. If she can turn Jareth into a cat, she must be bad."

* * *

Linda William's Fantine was all throat and wild gestures. Jareth didn't buy her act for a second, but he could understand why people did. She employed the same theatrics that Hitler did. He knew that there was no real emotion behind her world weary songs. Jareth cared very little for the poor, and as she yodeled under the lights, he found himself wishing one hundred years of additional poverty on those faceless masses.

People found this woman convincing? They found her beautiful and vivacious? By the stars above, she was shallow and vacuous. Celebrity did not always equal talent, and Linda Williams was living proof of that.

Perhaps he was being just a little unfair to the actress. His opinion of her was already sullied by her blatantly apparent disconnection with Sarah. Linda Williams was celebrated and wealthy, dining on caviar and champagne while her daughter tiredly walked to school in the snow. She was a peacock, strutting about in pomp and circumstance. Sarah was just a wingless songbird to her mother.

Every now and then, when Linda held a note for an extended period of time, she'd look towards his seat with a coyly tilted brow. Then, as the audience applauded her for minutes at a time, she'd wink at him with a come-hither stare and a saucy sway to her hips. Jareth would offer an aristocratic nod of his noble chin, and smile down at her with false admiration. It was just a spell, the hold he had on her.

He needed to speak to her, privately, and the only way to make that happen was to enchant her. Lust was the hardest of the Seven Deadly Sins to ignore, and Linda Williams was particularly weak.

After what seemed like an eternity of pitchy singing and hammy acting, the final curtain fell, rose petals were scattered, and the actors took their final bows. Again, Linda's green eyes met his, and a silent agreement was forged between the two adults. _I'll wait for you if you wait for me_, they said to one another, and as the theatre emptied, Jareth stayed right in his seat. It would be sometime before his coy mistress appeared, as her vanity called for a slinky dress and red lipstick. But Jareth was feeling benevolent and patient.

The prey would come to him, just as it always did.

* * *

The trap door made this squeaky-squeak noise when Sarah yanked it open, and some muted gagging followed as she fell to her bedroom floor. A minute later, Toby heard the telltale squelching of someone upchucking into a trashbin. It was only drip, drip, drip at first, but then it sounded like someone turning on a water hose.

"Yuck!" he cried, holding his still gloved hands over his mouth. Great, now her entire room smelled like farts, or that perfume Grandma wore. It was all things gross and nasty, which was weird. Weren't girls supposed to smell like marshmallows and cotton candies? Only boys were allowed to be stinky.

Going down there was the last thing he wanted to do, but Sarah's pain hit him in the stomach like a baseball bat. It did that every now and then, but so did Mom and Dad's. Inside his brain, a little voice was warning him that bad things were below him; but he was the man of the house, and his sister was in trouble.

"You okay?" he asked as he swung his legs over the side of the hole. Sarah answered by puking some more, and it was just as smelly.

Two minutes later, and she sounded pretty much done. Sarah wasn't very big, so her tummy didn't have a lot of room. His did though! Once, he ate two whole boxes of Twinkies, and then another box of Snowballs, and, holy cow, Mom was just so _mad_ –

Something big thudded to the ground, something bigger than Merlin but smaller than Dad. Oh, that something was Sarah.

Toby landed squarely on his feet as he jumped down, and what he saw was both super funny and scary at the same time. Sarah was on her back, huffing and puffing as she held her belly. She was only a few inches from her waste basket. It was like she'd been sucker-punched right in the gut, kind of like a rodeo clown. But her lips were blotchy and puffy, and her nose was starting to bleed.

"Uh, Sarah? Do I need to get Mom? She has some cough syrup. It doesn't taste too bad…" Cough syrup was Mom's go-to medicine, and it almost tasted like grape, even though the label said bubblegum. There was grape bubblegum, right?

Sarah shook her head no, no, no… no, no, and then went back to gasping like a goldfish. Toby thought of all the things that made him feel better. On his fingers, he counted them out. Wrestling, cookie dough ice scream, Indiana Jones, video games, mud, tangling Mom's yarn, chocolate, washing the car…

Chocolate was the only one he could manage, and he wasn't even sure if he could make a big bar. But maybe she just needed some food, and chocolate was better than dinner.

He looked at Sarah one more time, worried and upset. Girls didn't get sick, just like they didn't go the bathroom, nor did they scrape their knees. But Sarah was sick, so maybe she wasn't a girl.

Concentrating super-duper hard, eyes closed and everything, Toby took off his gloves and cupped his hands together until they made a little tennis ball. Inside, he could see Jareth's hands forming one of those neato crystal balls, and with a pop, he felt something drop into his closed palms. It hurt like crazy, but when he looked down, he had another nifty marble.

It didn't turn into a chocolate bar when he threw it at the wall though. This time, a peach appeared.

Great, he pictured candy and got fruit. Mom would be happy. Next, it would probably be broccoli. This magic thing _sucked_.

"So… um, she's a bad witch, the worst, and Jareth is her cat."

Given the almost green tint to her skin, he expected Sarah to hop back up and start vomiting again. So it was a bit of a shock when she rolled onto her hands and knees, her head hanging as her breathing slowed and steadied. The relief he felt at seeing her move lasted only a second, because her nose was still gooey with blood, only now it was dripping onto the ground.

Had he done something wrong? Jareth liked her! He was cool beans! Okay, so he turned into a cat, which was lame, but he could also turn into an owl. What could she not like about him?

"That prick saw me naked!" she shouted at the top of her lungs. Toby stuck his fingers in his ears, even though it was Jareth he felt bad for.

Seeing a naked girl must've been scary.

* * *

Wow. You guys really came through with those reviews. And I promised another two chapters, so here's the first one.

* * *

**HazlgrnLizzy**: I should hope so! I do… well, not my best per se. I'm better at writing research papers. But I try!

**GeeAnnaB**: Of course you are, dear. Of course.

**Gunitatsuhiko**: Well, it's not brilliant, but it's fun!

**Anita**: I think you have me confused with Solea or Writertron or Lanabyte. Check out their stuff, and then reconsider your praise. Morgaine is reconsidering her feelings for Sarah, after all.

**Writertron**: I am just full of secrets, aren't I? I will let YOU figure out who the woman is, and what Jareth was up to.

**MISS-DEATH-WAS-HERE**: I'm not saying anything, but she was kind of creepy, no?

**Artseblis**: As you know, I responded to you in an email, but that was very observant of you. I'm steadily going back and fixing all of my mistakes (chapters one, two and three are going to be properly edited and replaced by midnight). This will be addressed as the chapters are reposted.

**Chichi89**: I am the master of the cliffhanger.

**Bettybimbo**: Is this soon enough?

**Lady-Gummy-Bears**: Toby is as confrontational as Sarah, but he's smaller. Maybe he should listen to reason.

**Kiruya**: It's safe to say that her reception won't be very warm.

**Solea**: I always loved being criticized by a better writer, so when I saw that you'd reviewed, I was really happy. I'm really taking your pointers to heart, because they are things I knew I was struggling with, but now I know it's time to speed up. Sure, it hit me like a two-by-four, but what a way to go. Thank you for reading my story, and feel free to offer up constructive criticism whenever you get annoyed.

**LadyNorth76**: Wait until the next chapter, and you will find out. Bwuhaha.

**Miya Silver**: It is… until you get stuck in an oubliette.

* * *

Okay folks, this is _the_ turning point in the story. Everything will start falling into place now. A lot of things are going to be resolved, and Act II is about to commence. In the next few chapters, a lot of the main plot points are going to end, and new ones will commence. I told Solea that this is looking to be about 30-35 chapters, so we are nowhere near done.

But the cat has literally been let out of the bag, and he's not going back. Neither are we.


	18. Chapter 18

On Tuesday, Prince Charming helped her pick out her clothes, from her coat to her bra. On Wednesday, she brought him into the bathroom with her, so Merlin wouldn't find him as she showered. On Thursday, she spent about a half hour rubbing lotion onto every inch of her winter parched skin, idly reciting poetry so the cat wouldn't get bored.

And it was Jareth the whole time. That was all sorts of wrong. It was sick. It was perverted. The past few days had lulled her into contentment, and all of it was a lie. The sweet kitten that laid on her chest and kneaded her bare arms with his claws wasn't a kitten at all.

In some very odd ways, it made sense that Prince Charming was Jareth. The cat, after all, wasn't very catlike. He could turn on lamps, beg her to wipe her nose and recognize full sentences. All Merlin heard was "Blah blah Merlin blah." Cats were smart, but not that smart.

Nothing could make a girl angrier than knowing a peeping tom had seen her naked. Not that Jareth was a peeping tom, per se. He'd probably seen gaggles of way prettier women, all with better figures and perfect eyebrows. But _no_, he had to come to her house for a private show. Spoiling him rotten probably hadn't helped either.

Feeling prickly and pissed off was a good thing, she realized as she paced back and forth. If she focused solely on being ornery, she wouldn't have time to feel violated. Sarah Williams was a caged she-tiger looking for a fight, and Toby could only sit on her bed, watching with worry written all over his face.

For only a second, just one, Sarah felt a little bit special, a little bit honored. Jareth was a big bad wolf, but hadn't eaten her or blown her house down. Was it wrong to maybe wish that she could see him again, and not as a cat? The answer was yes, because then the magnitude of the lie swung at her gut with the heaviness of a bowling ball.

Morgan _was_ a witch. Sarah hadn't really known that. She only made that accusation to throw Ms. Lafferty off her trail. But the shoe fit, and it fit well. So well, in fact, that she had her very own Goblin King as a familiar.

Toby, trying to put some space between him and the raging teenager, had backed up until he was flush against her headboard.

"Um, can we talk about the witch in the woods? I'm still kind of scared."

"Fine!" Sarah shouted without stopping.

"Well… she's very bad," Toby mumbled as he crawled under her pillows. Whether or not she realized it, but the anger she was projecting was hurting him. Physically. "And she wants to hurt you."

Well, _that_ was different.

Sarah hopped onto the bed, bouncing the mattress a bit as she scooted over to Toby. He was safely hidden under a mountain of girly pillows with pink lace and lush velvet, and he wasn't coming out any time soon.

"I'm not gonna hit you or anything. Now tell me about the witch in the woods."

"I'm not sure if she's a witch," the Toby-lump groused with a muffled voice. "She might be a fairy, but she didn't stick around long enough."

Frowning, Sarah quickly asked, "What did she look like?" before flopping down onto her stomach.

The pillow pile shifted, and her last remaining stuffed animal fell to the ground. Mr. Canada (her miniature husky from Alberta) had just committed suicide.

"Why is your nose bleeding?"

Damn, even though she knew that question was coming, it was still kind of shocking.

"The doctor said that most people who have facial surgery will get nose bleeds every now and then, especially if they blow their noses… or, you know, vomit."

"Speaking of that, could you empty the trashcan already?"

* * *

"Why would the most handsome man in the theatre wait for me when there are scores of elegant ladies at the gala as we speak?"

Something in Jareth's stomach shriveled up and died, possibly his libido. The voice behind him spoke in the dulcet, syrupy tone of a woman caught in the throes of a particularly spectacular orgasm. And he hadn't uttered a single word yet.

"I believe I am the only man in the theatre, mademoiselle," he replied as coyly as he could, given the situation. This was his future queen's egg donor, after all.

And she certainly was no mademoiselle.

"Then you are the most handsome man in all of New York."

With the liquid, sinewy grace he borrowed from his feline form, Jareth swiveled his head towards the infamous Linda Williams, all the while mentally chanting 'whore'. It was an apt description.

Ten years ago and twenty pounds ago, she was probably, at best, pretty. Now that he saw Linda Williams up close, he realized that a good portion of Sarah's softer features came from _Robert_ Williams. The round curve of her cheeks, the stubbornness of her chin, her full brows… none of them could be found on Linda Williams. Her face was harsh and broad, easily handling a wide smile with approximately one-hundred-thirteen strong, white teeth. The off-colored freckles peppering her sloping and sagging throat were a mute witness to years of tanning, but there wasn't a mark to be found above her chin. He could applaud mortals for their cosmetics, but sometimes, less really was more. Yes, she had Sarah's hair and eyes, but she wore them more grace and beauty than the woman who gave them to her.

"You, my dear," he said, oozing sensuality as his eyes raked her figure, "sing like an angel."

'_And I am an excellent liar.'_

Linda laughed, waving him off as she coyly replied, "There are much more talented singers on Broadway."

'_Yes there are.'_

Jareth motioned to the seat next to him. "Sit, my dear. Your feet probably ache after standing for so long."

She didn't need to be told twice, slipping into his seat with an eagerness that was palpable. Leanan sidhe were irresistible to people who thrived on fame. It didn't hurt that he was really laying it on thick, the spell, that is. Inspiring feelings of lust was easy. Except when it came to Sarah.

"I've had years of experience," Linda said, but then she cleared her throat. "Not that many, however. Just some."

If there was anyone who lacked a well-rounded character, it was this woman. Alright, alright, he was being unfair. Jareth had set out to dislike her, but nothing would change his mind. His parents, volatile as their relationship was, were both active participants when it came to their children. There were nannies, wet nurses and tutors, of course, just faceless, nameless elves and fairies. But both Oberon and Titania loved Jareth and his siblings – the twins, brother Enlil and sister Enyo, and of course, baby Patricia. At least they loved them once upon a time.

The fact that Linda wasn't with her daughter spoke volumes about their relationship. And, dear gods, he couldn't stand another minute of this flirtatious banter.

Without preamble, his hand snapped out and caught a hold of Linda's wrist. Immediately, her pupils widened until not a speck of her irises remained. Manipulating her would be easier if he could eliminate all traces of Sarah.

A lethal calm swept over Linda, one that could stop her heart if he wasn't careful. The blank expression that deadened every nerve made every facial feature go slack. She was a living puppet, one who could give him every answer he lacked.

But what to ask? There were just so many things he wanted to know. Why wasn't she married to Robert Williams anymore? Where did her talent and fame come from? How could she abandon her only child for a shallow existence of cocktail parties and limousines?

Before his anger could boil to the surface, he picked the most pressing issue at hand.

"What happened to Sarah's nose?"

As expected, Linda responded with the truth.

And it nearly killed him.

* * *

"Her eyes with blue with no pupils?"

"I didn't see a single student with her."

"No, that's not what I meant."

"Then what did you mean?"

This had been going on for nearly a half-hour. Toby was an incredible creature, but he was five. Sometimes he forgot where his noise was, and often rocked straight forward when told to go left. He had the attention span of a guppy, and it took a crowbar to pry information from him.

"I mean, her eyes are solid blue?"

Toby nodded, his blonde curls fluttering over his forehead. "And she had long hair in a donkey tail."

"A ponytail," she corrected him

"_Whatever._"

So far, Toby had revealed that the mysterious witch was short, pale and evil. Positively evil. Her coat stank of carcasses, but of the sorrow of death as opposed to rotting flesh. And she had some sort of vendetta against Sarah, but what that vendetta was a complete enigma. Toby simply couldn't remember.

"Can you remember anything she said?" Sarah asked with a sigh. Toby had long abandoned his down fortress, only to migrate into her lap, safely tucked into the cradle of her legs. Anytime the conversation got too scary, he'd press his back into her chest so hard she got knocked back into her non-padded headboard. She'd probably have bruises come morning, but oh well.

Admittedly, a few minutes earlier, she hadn't give two shits about the forest witch. Jareth was back, he'd seen her naked, and Ms. Morgan Lafferty was all sorts of weird. But now Toby was frightened out of his skin, and he was her main priority.

"She said something about a pail of horses and dollops of debt."

"Okay, that makes no sense whatsoever."

Again, Toby leaned back against her, and again, she thudded against the headboard. However, he wouldn't say another word, so translation fell to her.

A pail of horses and a dollop of debt were… she wasn't even sure what they were. And neither did Toby.

What did a pail of horses equal? Did he mean a barn? And a dollop of debt? Was that a funky euphemism for a dollop of Daisy that was loaned to you?

She narrowed her eyes and put on her best thinking cap. Little ears couldn't be trusted to hear and remember things correctly. Toby was incredibly articulate, speaking at a level most fifth-graders struggled with. Now that she knew he was… special, it made sense. But as smart as he was, he was five. He was allowed to forget shit every now and then. Sarah just wished it wasn't the important stuff.

As she cuddled Toby to her chest, she tried for lateral thinking. Maybe he wasn't… holy shit.

He wasn't talking about buckets or money owing.

'_Pale horses. Death.'_

Ice ran through Sarah's veins as her brief studies into Biblical mythology hit her like a ton of bricks. It was a wild jump to make, but it was only one that fit. Of the four horsemen of the Apocalypse, Death rode out on a pale horse.

_When the Lamb opened the fourth seal, I heard the voice of the fourth living creature say, "Come!" I looked and there before me was a pale horse! Its rider was named Death, and Hell was following close behind him. They were given power over a fourth of the earth to kill by sword, famine and plague, and by the wild beasts of the earth._

Witches didn't talk about pails of horses and debt dollops, but they did talk about death. And if this fairy was indeed Death on a white, they were all sorts of fucked. They were surrounded by fairies on all sides.

How many people got to say that?

* * *

"And I haven't seen her since."

Beneath his fingers, Jareth could feel the pulse in Linda's wrist slowing to nothing more than an occasional flutter. And it didn't bother him in the slightest. She deserved to die.

He had not the words to describe the anguish and rage he felt; and if he couldn't find, then Sarah most likely couldn't either.

Sarah was supposed to grow up slowly, basking in the innocent delights of childhood. She had the right to be young and pure, and she was robbed of it, nearly losing her life in the process.

"I want to rip out your heart and shove it down your throat, but I don't even want to touch you anymore. Be glad that I'm feeling gracious."

His grip tightened so hard that he could feel her bones crumbling like wet chalk, and as her eyes rolled into the back of her head, she fell to the ground. He wanted to step of her face and carve her up with a piece of broken glass, but there were more pressing evils that needed dealing with.

Something has horrific and tragic as being raped and carved by a rusty a knife should've been blatantly apparent to him or Morgaine. Humans wore their trauma on their sleeves. Pain was a tattoo, a brand on the forehead. So why had it remained hidden for so long? Sarah saw Morgaine nearly every day, and so far, she seemed completely oblivious.

It could only mean one thing. Somebody, with an unlimited amount of power at their disposal, had cloaked Sarah in secrecy. But who? Nearly every Unseelie fairy worth her salt went through black magic as quickly as vultures went through corpses left on a battlefield. It was a remarkably simple spell. Basically, it threw a blanket over what it was trying to hide, and nervously said "Pay no attention to the little man behind the curtain."

The spell was effective though, playing on the belief that if an answer was too straightforward or too simple, it couldn't possibly be true.

It was though, and now there was hell to pay.

But not before he saw Sarah.

* * *

Okay, okay, okay. It seems like I'm rushing, and I'll admit, I am a little bit. This scene, if it were in real time, is about two hours long or so. That's a lot of info to shove into a very short time. But for some reason, things just flew by. To keep things neat and succinct, I couldn't include too many details. It would waste time. I promise the next few chapters will be longer.

I leave for my vacation tomorrow morning, but I'll be trapped in a hotel for about a day or so, so I may be able to work on another chapter. I promised all of you at least two, and this is the second one. Now, keep up your end of the bargain and review until your fingers fall off.

I've noticed that this story is put on more alert and favorite lists than it is reviewed. That's incredibly flattering. It means you all want to stick with this story until it's finished, and that's great. But feedback is even nicer. I want to know what you like or don't like, if there's anything you'd do differently, or if you just want to say hi. Chapter one got twelve-hundred visitors from over thirty countries.

And now it is review time!

* * *

**GeeAnnaB**: Draw a blank no more!

**LittleMargarita**: Unfortunately, Jareth can't stand Linda, so he hightailed it out of there before he killed her. I don't think we're done with her yet.

**Helikesitheymikey**: I just had to use your description of Linda. There's just something inherently hilarious about the term 'egg donor'.

**LadyNorth76**: Sadly, you will have to wait a little over a week for the next update. Don't hate me.

**HazlgrnLizzy**: I believe the phrase is 'up shit creek without a paddle.'

**Gunitatsuhiko**: You made up a couplet! That's pretty nifty.

**Chichi89**: Is this soon enough?

**Bettybimbo**: The cat is out of the bag, and about to find himself in the frying pan.

**MISS-DEATH-WAS-HERE**: Sarah is sick out of sheer shock. Sometimes, when you learn something you'd rather not, don't _you_ want to puke?

**Jinx1764**: Sadly, he didn't do too much to Linda, even though we wanted him to.

**Anita**: I had facial reconstructive surgery in June, including having my nasal passages widened. For months after the surgery, because I couldn't blow my nose (doctor's orders), so every now and then, if water got up there or if I sneezed, blood would come out. It's nearly January, and there's still some blood left in my sinuses. It's dried and black now, but it's still there. So… yeah, just speaking from experience.

**Suchowriter10**: Hmm… yarn and kitty toys? I think I have my next chapter.

**Miya Silver**: Sure they could! She'd just be even meaner than Jareth.

**Solea**: Your review was wonderful and very helpful, so don't worry about hurting my feelings. As to your question, he's very afraid, but Sarah was too busy being sick to let him.

**The Heroine With 1000 Faces**: I think I just want Jareth.

**Darkbangle**: Now that all of the big secrets are out of the way, Titania, Oberon and Hippolyta will be much bigger players. Also, there one very mysterious character will appear. Bwuhaha.

* * *

Okay everyone, get to work and review!

Happy New Year!


	19. Chapter 19

Oops, I haven't put in a disclaimer yet. Here it is.

I own nothing, not even my sanity. The movie Labyrinth belongs to someone else. I am not making any money in writing this story. I haven't received permission to use these characters, but they haven't sent the moderators at a cease and desist order, so I will continue to borrow them. I also mention brand names, as well as musicians. I don't own them either. However, this story is my intellectual property, so please, if you feel the need to plagiarize it, tell me first and we'll work out a deal.

There! Now I don't have to worry about lawyers.

* * *

Feeling the need to rip something apart with his bare hands, Jareth decided that a quick trip through Central Park as a cat was in order. He attacked passing squirrels, rats and even a few doves, shredding them with his claws until nothing but fine strips of skin and bare bones remained. Killing small animals for the joy of it was the hallmark of a serial killer in training, but if not for vermin, he'd be killing any human that crossed his path.

With obscene pleasure.

Sarah, _his_ Sarah, had been… and she…

'_Count to ten before you go back into that theatre and toss that woman over the mezzanine.'_

One.

It had happened at night and she had been incapacitated by alcohol.

Two.

She was walking through the park.

Three.

Something hit her head, something heavy enough to knock her down without rendering her unconscious – meaning she'd been awake, but unable to fight back.

Four.

Her dress was torn and her undergarments cut off with some kind of blade. The nicks between her breasts and along the crease of her pelvis and thigh were numerous, but superficial.

Five.

Before she could close her eyes, Sarah was flipped onto her stomach. Her exposed corneas were scratched raw by dirt and pebbles.

Six.

Then she was taken, her tender flesh ripped clear from her, blood dripping down her thighs.

Seven.

When her attacking was finished, he turned her over and beat her face with a bottle, until her nose was all but gone.

Eight.

The knife passed over her throat, just beneath her chin. She was only saved by incompetence.

Nine.

It was planned, all of it.

Ten.

And someone had sought fit to hide it from him.

His rage dictated that he kill a raccoon, which was unfortunate for the animal, but not for the couple sitting just below Jareth.

They were looking more and more like prey.

* * *

At some point, Toby fell asleep in Sarah's arms, and she was forced to either lie down or carry him to his room. Considering that he seemed pretty terrified, she was more than happy to let him take a small nap in her bedroom. But first, the trashcan needed to go. All remnants of their conversation needed to go.

Tucking the covers up around her brother's shoulders, she brushed away the platinum locks from his forehead and kissed both of his closed eyes. Her brother didn't deserve to be so frightened. He had every right to be a kid with normal kid worries. If the world they lived in had been fair, his worries would've revolved around finding the perfect toad to slip in his mother's shoes. There was no 'basis for comparison' though, so when Toby woke up, he'd have to deal with the fact that somebody was after his sister, and that their next door neighbors were most likely after them too.

"You shouldn't have to be so fearless," she mumbled to him before doing as he asked. The door creaked ominously as she stepped into the hallway, immediately assaulted by the complete and pressing silence. Where were Mom and Dad? They shouldn't have been out this long. Oh well, it was probably for the best. If they saw her makeshift puke bucket, they may do something silly like take her to the hospital. Ha, like she'd go! She didn't even want to leave the house.

The kitchen was cold as ice, as was the water as she rinsed out the small pink tub. No matter how much she turned the 'h' labeled knob, not a drop of hot water came out. Crap, the pipes were probably frozen. Old houses were full of unpleasant surprises.

Merlin, however, was not one of them. All one-hundred-ten pounds of the English sheep dog was sprawled on the floor under the table, the fur by his mouth ruffled by some insanely loud snoring. Sometimes, Sarah wondered if she'd get more energy and use out of a similarly sized pillow, but then Merlin would nuzzle his wet nose into her thigh, or give her a kiss with a tongue wider than a canoe paddle. He was loud and slobbery, but she loved the gigantic fur ball.

"Come on boy!" Sarah called as she slapped her thigh. One of his ears lifted, slowly followed by the other as the fur covering his eyes rose lazily. The lump gave her a look that clearly spoke of how busy he was being comfortable. But as she made kissy noises, which always prompted him to wiggle his butt excitedly. Had he been human, Merlin would've grumbled unhappily as he rocked to his feet.

"That's my boy," she cooed as she lowered to her knees. Merlin ambled towards her with the grace of John Wayne at his loping cowboy best. He nosed her chin, snorting heavily as she kissed his furry cheek. "We're going up now," she ordered her beast of a mop. He whined, but followed her as she brought the can back upstairs. Sarah was grateful for the constant thudding of his dinner plate sized paws and his tired panting.

Looking over her shoulder as they made it to her door, she assured him that, yes, he could go on her bed. It was one of his favorite places to nap, and immediately he perked up. But when she opened the door, he was surprisingly hesitant. She had to look behind her to make sure he was still following, and he was, albeit very slowly. He lifted his paws like they were encased in mud, much like a wet grizzly bear would. She thought nothing of it. He was six years old after all.

But then he started growling. Despite his fluffy, jovial appearance, he was still a herding dog. That enormous coat was more than just a good cold weather accessory. It protected his throat from gnashing fangs. Whenever Toby got too rambunctious, Merlin would bump into him or push into the boy's knees with his nose, effectively herding him. Merlin may have been a competitive couch potato, but he was still a tough dog.

And this tough dog was very unhappy with something just by her feet.

Which just happened to be a peach.

A perfect peach with a healthy blush on skin so smooth and soft it could've passed for velvet. Nothing else in the world mattered as she examined that innocent piece of fruit, with something very close to anger on her face. There was no fear, no trepidation, just an overwhelming fury that slit her eyes and had her clenching her teeth.

She knew how the peach got there. Prince Charming left it instead of a dead squirrel, which, as she understood, is what cats did when they wanted to get out of trouble.

Well, if he wanted to play, she was game.

Only this time, she'd swing the chair at his head.

Her hands shot out with the quickness of a striking rattlesnake. Before she could think about, and she really needed to think about it, she bit into the peach, again and again until it was gone. Her chin and neck were slick and faintly orange with the succulent juice of the fruit, and her tongue burned after swallowing the fuzzy skin. It tasted just as funny as before, but it was much more potent. There wasn't time to stumble off by herself, to quietly get stoned away from the prying eyes of her friends. Somewhere, far in the back of her mind, she heard a voice they may have been hers (_'Prove to me that you're divine. Change my water into wine.'_), and then things went black. Time and space were completely irrelevant as she tumbled down the darkened rabbit hole. What greeted her when she awoke was both terrifyingly familiar and starkly new.

Blearily, and with a growl a dragon would envy, Sarah rubbed her face with hands that seemed softer than usual. A complete disregard for lotion made for hellish calluses, but her skin was smooth as lily white silk. And cold. Holy crap, it was like an ice box in there. It was the chill that had her slowly opening her eyes, hoping she could find the asshole that turned the A/C on. As it turned out, a high energy bill was the last thing she needed.

There was nothing _immediately_ familiar about the cavernous infinity cove. It was rendered in muted, soothing shades of grey and white that blurred and bled to the point that there wasn't a solid line to be found. Several sets of stairs led to nowhere, delicate crystal chandeliers were suspended midair, and in the center of a sunken dance floor was a lonely white chair. It wasn't just a plain old chair, like the one she had in front of her vanity.

As a matter of fact, it _was_ the chair she kept in front of her vanity.

The gasp that hitched out of her throat was laced with disbelief, followed by a breathless "Oh no." Oh no, indeed. This was _the_ ballroom. "Oh God, what have I done?"

In the history of bad decisions, this one was right up there with wishing away Toby and letting Alan Parsons compose the soundtrack for Ladyhawke. What the hell was she thinking, eating that stupid peach? Was she that crazy? If so, then Mom was right. Therapy was probably a good idea.

Strong winds whistled through candelabras crafted from yellow bones, stinging her eyes and freezing her to the core. How could it be so cold? She remembered it being unbearably hot, clinging to Jareth as the throng of revelers pawed and leered at her. Then again, she'd been wearing that voluminous ball gown, and Jareth's hands were just so warm…

When the next gust of wind tickled her thighs, Sarah realized that she was mostly naked. Modest by nature, and freezing, Sarah shot up from the furry white rug she'd been laying on. Her hands tugged on the fabric she felt pooling at her waist, which she promptly regretted. The stuff was horribly itchy and threadbare, and as she pulled it down, it only came to her knees. She looked at legs, curious as to what sort of garment she'd been forced into this time. It was a hospital gown.

"Oh great, now this is hell. Please let this be some dream. Please let me have walked into a wall or something." It didn't feel like a dream though. It hadn't the last time she'd been there either, but she'd woken up nonetheless. All because of that chair and that mirrored wall. The only… okay, one of her _many_ problems, was the complete lack of said mirrored wall. It made sense though. She'd broken the last one, duh.

Lewis Carroll would've greatly appreciated the conundrum she was caught in. There was no way in and no way out…

That was it. That was _it_. Now she knew why there were no doors, windows, straight lines or walls. The ball room was just another oubliette, and the mirrored wall had been her invisible doorway. Now that she'd already broken it, there was no hope of being remembered. This meant she could talk to herself, out loud, without worrying about what people thought of her. On the other hand, she'd never cared what people thought of her.

"What the fuck is wrong with you, Sarah Williams? Do you hate common sense? Are you a glutton for punishment?" She paused to sigh. "How did you even get here?"

"That is _exactly_ what I would like to know."

* * *

One minute he was pulling the liver out of a shrieking raccoon, and the next he was in somebody else's fantasy, one that he knew intimately and often dreamed of.

The oubliette was his. The opulent ball room was Sarah's. And here they were, still married to one another, the two dreamscapes warring for dominance. Without the furniture, ice sculptures and grotesque decorations, the room stretched on for miles, even if only part of it was actually floored.

And there, lying at the foot of a floating staircase, was his precious destruction, his raven's wing. She wasn't wearing the silver candy floss gown. She wasn't wearing much of anything. All he could see was a rectangular swath of hideous cotton, three floppy bows tied down the back. He could see _everything_, including hideous bruises that flecked her skin like sequins… or glitter.

Her pale, slender throat was wrapped in bloody bandages, but her face was free from injury. What manner of dream was this? Surely it was a nightmare, because even at his angriest, he'd never wished physical harm on her. He wanted to frighten her, to rule her, but never to maim her. No one had that right. No one ever would.

She didn't seem to be in any sort of pain as she took stock of her situation with some surprisingly colorful language. If anything, she was just as confused as he was. Maybe the woman with Sarah's voice wasn't a specter, and this was a shared venture.

A flirtatious, suggestive comment rested on the tip of his tongue, but then the conversation with her mother came back to him, and his heart stopped beating.

Oh, how he just wanted to hold her, to promise her that everything would be okay. He would avenge her and protect from the world, from anyone who'd ever wronged her. But, by the few sentences she uttered here, he knew she would not appreciate it. Sarah, as always, was more than able to save herself. And if that failed, she could at least hold a decent, one-sided conversation.

"What the fuck is wrong with you, Sarah Williams? Do you hate common sense? Are you a glutton for punishment?" She sighed, and he had to smother his own. "How did you even get here?"

Jareth shook his head, taking the first few steps that would _finally_ unite them.

"That is _exactly_ what I would like to know."

* * *

Sarah let out a bloodcurdling scream that echoed through the room with all the magnitude of a foghorn blast. She spun on her heel, hissing as her bare skin burned as it twisted against the cold marble floor.

Just a few feet from her, Jareth, her Grim Reaper, stood casually, completely at home in that four-star oubliette. Of course he would look like he belonged there. He was the dream's architect and stonemason. If anything, she was the intruder.

That wrenched another scream from her throat, this one keening and agonized. The horror on his face had her hands flying to her throat, only to find some kind of textured fabric. Again she shrieked, shaky fingers ripping off whatever was wrapped around her neck. Bits of red and white cotton fell to the ground, showering their reunion as macabre confetti. What fun. Bloody bandages. Jareth certainly could craft a convincing nightmare.

"Sarah, stop," he commanded, but not a hint of authority underline his tone. Sadness and fear were the only emotions she could discern, as well as several others she couldn't quite pin. One of them, however, sounded almost like adoration.

It wasn't impossible. He _did_ love her once, because she wished for it, and this _was_ her fantasy (in a way). But it was his too. Maybe his wish was too see her vulnerable and cowering. Why else would she be wearing a hospital gown, and gauze where her neck wound had been?

Too many question ricocheted through her mind, little niggling bullets of terror and doubt. Jareth was a villain and a dream weaver, but he hadn't visited her in years. Why would he arrive now?

Even as she pondered his presence, she was cursing her stupidity and many lapses in judgment. There was wishing Toby away, trusting her mother for even a second, and now eating a peach that just happened to appear on her floor, despite the fact that it was winter and they lived nowhere near Georgia. Despite the fact that she no longer ate peaches, because they only led to bad things. Oh yeah, she was a fucking _genius_.

"If you keep doing that, you will scratch your neck open." His statement was a pleading whine, no small amount of desperation in those magical eyes. Sarah gasped as she realized she'd been dragging her nails down her throat, looking for metal stitches that weren't there. For the millionth time that day, she wanted to vomit, her stomach acid punching its way up her esophagus. She pressed both hands against her aching heart, unsure if it was physical pain, or emotional.

_'And here it comes,'_ she thought bitterly to herself. _'Here comes the teasing. The ridicule. Because that's the way it is.'_

It didn't come though. Jareth only stared at her, fierce longing pulling his pointed features into a melancholy frown. Something caused his gloved hands to twitch and flex over the side of his thighs. Every joint, muscle and bone was wound tighter than a spring, his nostrils flared, and his eyes were glassy, with little tears brimming along his lower lashes. In that instant, Jareth didn't look like himself. He kind of looked like her Dad when he came home from London after her...

_'Oh no. Please God, no.'_

But her prayers didn't matter.

He knew. He knew everything. And it was hurting him. But why?

Sarah threw back her shoulders, raising her chin arrogantly. Try as she might, however, she still looked like a victim. "Well?" _What are you going to do now?_

Nothing it seemed as he intoned, "Your hair is different... shorter. It covers your forehead."

Scoffing, Sarah shook her different, shorter hair. It was always the same. No one knew what to say, how to act. They either wanted to shower her in kisses or lock her away like Rapunzel in an ivory tower. Jareth, it seemed, was leaning towards the former.

Impatiently, she snapped, "Why did you send me that peach?"

He shook his head. "I didn't send you anything. I can't."

"Then how am I here?" Sarah fumed, her chest heaving.

"I know not. I'm not certain of how _I_ got here. I assumed it was your doing."

With nothing left to say, they stared at one another, sharing their first look since their last meeting in the Escher room. He hadn't changed, yet he wasn't the same. As always, he was both youthful and ancient, the slight lines around his eyes and mouth the only indication that he _could _age, not necessarily that he had.

Those eyes were still magical, and the arch of his nose was as aristocratic as ever, but Jareth wasn't himself. The man wearing the Goblin King's face was kind and concerned. "You are healed?" he asked, his throaty voice breaking slightly.

Sarah opened her face to say yes, but nodded 'no'. "I'll never be. There isn't much hope for my voice." She laughed mirthlessly. "Not that it matters. I never wanted to be a singer anyways."

He tiptoed towards her, hands raised in peace. Lion tamers did the same thing at the circus.

"You must know that I had nothing to do with your assault. I would never do such a thing to you."

Sarah blinked away angry tears. She would not cry in front of this man.

"I want to yell at you. I want to yell at until my throat bleeds, but I can't. Of all the things you did to me, lying wasn't one of them."

Hanging her head, Sarah looked down at her bare feet. She was still angry, so angry, but she couldn't find anything to say. Jareth could however.

"If there was a peach, why did you eat it?"

Her eyes screwed shut. This was too soon. She wasn't prepared for this. She wasn't prepared for anything. It's just... She was so angry. At her Mom, at Morgaine, at the world, at Jareth... And she tired, so tired of behaving rationally. Ivan Ilyich shouted at the world.

Why couldn't she?

"You wanna know why I ate that peach?" she questioned as she lifted her chin. "Because I'm stupid, okay? Because I didn't know what I was doing. I don't know what I'm doing anymore."

Jareth shook his head. "No, but you know many things, don't you?"

A minute passed in silence. She knew lots of things, like how ketchup was a non-Newtonian liquid, because it sometimes behaved like a solid. She knew the story of the Labyrinth by heart, but he knew that. While she knew lots of things, he knew _every_thing, at least that how it seemed; however she knew some of his secrets, including his latest game.

Fear quickly flashed through her eyes, only to be replaced by fury.

"I know about you and Morgan Lafferty, if that is her name." She sounded so bitter, but she had the right.

"Morgan Lafferty is close her true name." He swallowed. "She prefers Morgaine, but to the world, she is Morgana le Fay."

Sarah gasped.

"And I am her stepson."

* * *

Okay, I could only manage one chapter, but it was longer than usual. Now I have to answer some reviews, or the masses will be clamoring for my death.

* * *

**Miya Silver**: Um… it's going to get a lot darker. Buckle up!

**GeeAnnaB**: You can be skinny when this story is through. :)

**Gunitatsuhiko**: What is with you people reading this story when you're sick, stoned or working out? For Pete's sake, go to bed, get to the gym, and wait until you're healthy! It can wait!

**Jinx1764**: As I said before, WAIT UNTIL YOU ARE HEALTHY! As for the egg donor quote, you have Helikesitheymikey for that. I just had to use it.

**The Heroine With 1000 Faces**: Madame Awesome? Sounds… awesome!

**Kuroneko388**: Hmm… a Nutcracker inspired Labyrinth ficlet? That would be interesting. But it raises all sorts of interesting questions. Would Jareth be Sarah's Nutcracker Cavalier, or the menacing Drossylmeyer?

**Lost and Never Found**: Everyone expected a temper tantrum, but Sarah and Jareth talked to me about it, and they were too tired to get angry. I've been working them to death on a new short story starring our favorite couple. When they're not doing what I tell them to, they're, um… _busy_. In the biblical sense.

**Dragon Ashes**: Morgaine is Catholic, at least in the myth of King Arthur. Besides, Revelation is crazy fun to reference.

**Solea**: I tried to keep up the pace here, which is why I had to end it when I did. The next chapter will probably be longer, but we'll see different characters at the same time. Having Sarah and Jareth talk to each other for too long is really, really dull, but they need to talk. Ugh. Maybe I should outsource and get someone else to write that scene for me.

**Chichi89**: I got a hug! Woohoo!

**Dark Angel Millenia: **I wanted the beginning of the story to be set in Sarah's world, which required something happening to her. But very soon, we will be changing locations, and a new tone will be set!

**Writertron**: Something much different is going to happen. Bwuhaha!

**Darkbangle**: I like Hippolyta, and I think our new mysterious character will need a friend or enemy. So how about two mysterious characters?

**Zarqu0n**: I have stolen your review virginity. Don't tell your father!

**Helikesitheymikey**: Everyone seems to love that quote, so the credit definitely goes to you. I had a great time on my vacation, but during my down time, I worked on this story, as well as one that will be previewed soon. It'll be short, but hey, I need to know whether or not I should post it.

**Mystic-Innocense**: I think they're both handling it well. Then again, they're both in shock.

**LadyNorth76**: You should hate me. I love cliffhangers, which aren't fair.

**LittleMaragarita**: I think Jareth is glad to know, although I suspect he doesn't know how to react.

**Anniliana**: For God's sake people, go to bed! Read this story at another time! Thank you though for reviewing. They make me so happy. I need to know what to work on. As for the psychologically distressing part, it's going to get worse.

**Lonely 27**: You're welcome!

**Avalon-Mist**: I wanted their reunion to be in a weapons free area, and this was the only place I could imagine. Having them go at it would've been funny though.

**Snowbirdyoukai**: Oh man, I can't answer any of your questions. You'll just have to wait and see!

**The Lady Gen**: I do?

**Crazed Fuzzle**: Yeah, they've really picked up. I sped up this chapter to get to the next two, which will be chockfull of plot bombs!

**Kitsunekiras**: Anything regarding Patricia Barker is amazing!

**Northofantastic**: I really like Morgaine. A good portion of the next chapter will be about her. So stay tuned!

* * *

I am going to warn you. The next few chapters are going to be incredibly graphic, in both violence and sexual acts. Be prepared.

But first, check out this preview for a short story I will post soon. It's going to be very short, most likely a one-shot.

* * *

Rocky Road to Dublin

* * *

_Although the rock faces lining the chasm hadn't seen any runner besides Sarah in hundreds of years, they were a fairly routine occurrence. There were a grand total of eleven books still in existence. Four were circulating through Eurasia, with one rarely leaving Russia. Three could always be found in Asia, the text always changing to suit the different countries it entered. A society of witches in Salem kept two under lock and key at all times, never to be seen by the general public. Father McNally, a fae Halfling, had one hidden away with the other gifts his fairy mother left the night she abandoned him at an Irish orphanage. And one, one would always belong to Sarah Williams. It was handwritten, bound and pressed by Jareth, a wondrous gift for her and her alone. _

_At any given time, someone was taking the book literally, usually someone gullible or naïve. This time, a young French girl had wished away her newborn sister. As she passed by one of the fountains in the hedge maze, she threw the entire contents of her wallet in, thinking purchased wishes would help her. They wouldn't, but in addition to several paper bills, she threw in an old musket ball. Where she found it was a mystery, but even that small bit of iron had the power to poison his entire water system; and cruel as Jareth was, he would never do anything to jeopardize the lives of the Labyrinth's inhabitants, save for the occasional goblin._

_As King of the Labyrinth, removing hazardous materials was his job, so after the runner went on her not so merry way, he appeared at the edge of the artificial spring, dragon hide gloves covering him from fingertip to elbow._

"_I hate the French," he groaned as he tentatively reached down into the murky water. This particular fountain hadn't work in years, hence the water was stagnant with rotting vegetation and mud. But several lily pads were sporting healthy pink blooms, where several jewel toned dragonflies were roosting, so there was no fear of a mosquito infestation. Of all the horrible creatures in the world, mosquitoes were one of the few completely banned in the Goblin Kingdom. _

"_I think that girl needs a minotaur or two sent after her." Anything monstrous, he thought as he groped around through the layers of mulch and dirt, eyes closed in concentration. Iron was as dangerous to him as arsenic and molten steel. Picking it up with his bare hands would both poison and burn him. "The Bog of Stench could use some new denizens."_

"_You're in love."_

_Yes he was, but that was beside the point._

"_No, it's the point entirely."_

_Ah, so the voice wasn't in his head. In that case, he was being rude by not addressing it directly. It only took a moment to find the voice's owner. A very small something was sitting on a lotus blossom. She had the torso, head and arms of a beautiful woman, but the legs of a striped frog. She was even crouched like a frog, her hands propped on her muscular, slimy thighs._

"_Why are you here? You're in love. Shouldn't you be wooing your intended?" she questioned as she wove her brown curls into a plaited crown. Jareth peered at her for a minute, trying to conjure a name, but there wasn't one to be found in his memory._

"_Shouldn't you be wearing a blouse?" he retorted, still groping for the bullet. "It can't be comfortable, baring your breasts to the world."_

_She shrugged, gesturing to a sleeping bullfrog at her left as she said, "My husband is more than capable of protecting me. Besides, I'm in no discomfort now. The weather is splendid. Is it your doing?"_

"_It is," he told her, his fingers finding the iron piece after a few more blind swipes. "So the frog is your husband?"_

_She laughed lightly. "I do not lie with frogs. By night, he's a riverweed pixie. Now, who is this woman you think of with both anger and adoration?"_

"_Have you a name, frog maiden?" Speaking of Sarah only opened freshly healed wounds, so distracting the diminutive sprite was the only way to escape unharmed._

"_Orla," she said promptly. "And my husband is Ivar." But she was not to be dissuaded. "Is it the raven-haired bird, Sarah? You did seem awfully jealous of her easy relationship with the dwarf. Why else would something as silly as a kiss between friends bother you?"_

_Jareth rolled the small iron ball in his hands, brushing away the muck. He pretended to be studying the offensive, deadly item, but he was really considering the little frog sprite's words. He did love Sarah. Everyone could see that. Several times, he'd gone wondering through the Labyrinth, looking for traces of his lady love. To date, he'd only collected a small ring, some cheap metal creation with an imitation ruby. Hoggy's plastic thing 'round his wrist was next._

"_There isn't going to be another," she continued on, her surprisingly deep voice disapproving. "I was lucky to find my Ivar. Fae have soul mates, but we rarely find them."She bowed as best she could in her crouched position, bunching the muscles in her amphibian legs in preparation to jump._

_Right before she leapt away, she left this word of warning._

"_Humans have expiration dates. Snatch Sarah up before hers looms closer."_

* * *

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	20. Chapter 20

With a soft whoosh, Oberon landed several feet from his throne, casting off his osprey feathers for a fine silk coat the color of sweet red wine. His feasting hall was empty, the marble pillars tall and ominous in the dark. There hadn't been a proper banquet since his marriage to Morgaine. Using the room for anything but war counsels shadowed his heart with the blackest melancholy. Celebratory gatherings were to be hosted by the king _and_ queen, and Morgaine was not welcome by the Seelie court.

Sinking onto the velvet pillows cushioning his seat of power, Oberon rubbed his forehead. He let his age seep into his bones, welcoming the pain of stiff joints and strained muscles. The day had been tedious. Enlil and Enyo were again waging war over their inheritance, bickering about whose children deserved land and titles. Enlil already had several Halfling babies by his affairs with humans, but he was unwed. Enyo had recently accepted a marriage bid by a well ranked Elvin prince, but was childless. By seeking a husband outside her race, her odds of conceiving increased, yet there was only the chance of an heir.

In the eyes of the Fae, all natural children were blessings. To have four by the same wife was proof that the gods loved him, and wanted him to be happy. Enlil and Enyo, however, tried his patience time and time again. They were only content when they argued. Some days, it seemed that they wanted to split Oberon's illustrious house right down the middle, pitting sibling against sibling. In effect, everything they were came from Titania. All of his children were blonde and blue eyed (save for Jareth), but Enlil and Enyo inherited their mother's pride and spite. Never would they find peace or joy in the world.

"And I thought Jareth was my ruin," he whispered to the streaks of moonlight slanting through the open windows. When Jareth sought an Unseelie kingdom, Oberon thought all hope of a lasting dynasty lost. His place in the Seelie kingdom was already unsteady at best. Black-haired, brown-eyed Oberon was the bastard son of an Unseelie queen so treacherous and feared, her real name was never uttered, only her title. _La Belle Dame sans Merci_. The Beautiful Lady Without Pity. That is what they called her, referencing John Keats's ballad instead of mentioning her directly. She loved her son though, only weeping when he abandoned the Nightshade Kingdom.

Taking Titania's hand in matrimony was the only way to become a Seelie High King. Asides from their children, nothing good came of their union. Titania was willful and proud, an only child to doting parents who never reprimanded her. In the first centuries of their marriage, he reined her in with games and tricks, and the Seelie court praised him for keeping her out of the way. But then came the affair of the changeling page and the court of Theseus. Puck had been gentle when he retold the story to William Shakespeare, painting Titania as just a jealous housewife with too much time of her hands. The hobgoblin was inebriated with mead, hence he forgot to properly illustrate Titania's rage over her loss.

Nobody questioned their divorce, not even his enemies in both courts. How he'd kept from going insane was a miracle and a testament to his desire for peace. Kings needed queens though, but Oberon had no need for a broodmare. He already had children, two male heirs no less. So why not seek out the hand of a friend? Morgaine was beautiful, and they were easy companions, understanding that lust was nothing to be feared. Her bedroom affairs would never interfere with his.

He scoffed, knocking his head back against his throne. "But, oh, how I love her. What a marriage ours would be if she could but love me back."

"She does love you," a sweet, tinkling voice called from the night. Oberon snapped to attention, seeking out the intruder whom walked with silent footsteps. "In every way possible."

"Come out from the shadows, Hippolyta, my friend. Let me look upon you."

"As you wish," she acquiesced as she stepped into the starlight.

The Amazon Queen was as he remembered her, tall with not an ounce of body fat. Her long limbs were pale and hard like ivory, marred only by scars gained honorably in battle. On this evening, her curls were braided with golden chains, arranged into an elegant knot at the nape of her long neck.

"You come dressed for an official audience," he told her as he stood, descending the steps to the main floor. "Why else would you wear silk instead of skins?"

Hippolyta chuckled, fingering the folds of her long and sleeveless black gown. "I stand in the hall of a great king. This is not the place for stained and tattered animal hides."

"You are a queen, Hippolyta, and a trusted ally. Your garb matters not." A teasing note lightened his voice. "Perhaps you should've come naked."

He held his arms open for her, but she stayed as she was. His advances always left her completely unaffected, but now, she was positively frigid. Her face, already angular and hawkish, was marred by a deep scowl and puckered brow. As he moved closer, he could see that she still had her golden bow strapped to her back. The dark band of her girdle blended in with her dress. In spite of her regal costume, she was prepared for battle.

At once, Oberon stood at attention. "Why have you come here, Hippolyta? Is there word sent from your father?"

Her throat flexed as she swallowed dryly. "You know that my position is precarious. It is not easy, maintaining my relations with you, Morgaine and Titania. I can no longer bear the strain."

His brow knitted. "What are you saying?"

Then Hippolyta did something she'd never done before in his presence.

She cowered in fear.

"The life of Sarah, the woman your eldest son adores, is at risk."

"By whose hand?" he demanded.

Hippolyta bowed her head, but did not hesitate.

"By the hand of Queen Titania, lady of the bank where the wild thyme grows."

* * *

So Jareth had mommy issues too? Huh. They did have something in common.

"My next door neighbor is King Arthur's sister, and she's married to your Dad?" Jareth nodded, shrugging his shoulders. She almost laughed. "And people think I'm the one who needs therapy."

The Goblin King was inches from her. Sarah noticed that he wasn't garbed in his usual peacock finery. He had on black pants that would've been tight on any other man, but on Jareth, they were almost slouchy. Kind of like pajamas. His shirt was loose too, the white linen so sheer she could see the outline of his torso beneath it. Strangest of all were his bare feet. They were as beautiful as the rest of him, but he seemed so vulnerable without his boots.

"Were you asleep or something? You look kind of… bare."

"I wasn't' dressed at all. I was hunting."

"Mice?" she offered. "I know cats and owls like them. Our neighbor's cat used to leave them on our front porch. Mom thought they were gross."

"Sarah," he reprimanded her sternly. "Let's not get off track here. You ate a poisoned peach. Yes?"

She nodded.

"Then something is frightfully wrong here. I should be the only person with the power to conjure them."

Sarah worried her lower lip with her teeth. Her anger was fading fast, and she knew that is was time to play twenty questions. Sure, this was Jareth she was talking to, but he wasn't hurting or tricking her. Maybe he had some answers for her.

"What do you mean?"

He spoke slowly, rolling each syllable in his mouth with that patrician accent she found once found so alluring.

And still did…

"I am a fairy, Sarah. Not the cute little spritely kind with candy glass wings. The Irish call my people 'aos sí', which means 'people of the mound,' but we have no name for what we are. So we simply call ourselves sídhe fae."

"I know all about that," she interrupted him brusquely, crossing her arms beneath her breasts. "Skip to the part about the fruit."

He stared at her blankly, then cleared his throat, his Adam's apple bobbing slightly. "Some fae, especially those as powerful as me, all have fruits, plants, animals that we use for our own purposes. For myself, I claim the peach and owl as signatures of my magic. No one else would try and use them for magical purposes without my permission."

"That still doesn't explain how I _got _here."

When he didn't say anything for a long time, Sarah thought he was just being his haughty, arrogant, stuck-up self. But then he ever so carefully stretched out his arm, cupping her cheek in his un-gloved, long-fingered hand. His thumb swept over her mouth, and something sharp and sweet shot through her veins.

Barely above a whisper, he uttered the words "I'm sorry," so softly she wasn't sure he said anything at all. Sarah lashes lowered to her cheeks, her eyes tightly shut as his other hand wrapped around the back of her neck. This was as close as any man had been to her in months. As close as any man had ever been to her without making her uncomfortable or downright sick. Her body language screamed _I'm not afraid of the Big Bad Wolf, see? I'm not recoiling in fear or anything dumb like that._

The truth was that she wasn't afraid. Maybe she'd never been afraid of him. He was frightening, and she did cower before him, but he was amazing. Her lips parted slightly, her eyes itching as she tried not to cry like a little girl. He was being so sweet, but it was too much, too soon. She couldn't be in the same room with him. Or the same city. Same state even. He'd betrayed her, hadn't he? This was just a farce too.

Wasn't it?

* * *

The fingers around her neck tightened, fisting into her black satin hair. She tilted her head into his palm, pressing her dewy pink pout against the thin, sensitive skin of his inner wrist. She most likely had no idea what she was doing, because the room was beginning to spin around them. The ceiling crumbled like paper, and the floor was rapidly turning to dust.

"Sarah, I can feel the dream dissolving. We haven't much time."

The green of her irises shown like emeralds as she looked up at him in confusion. She was anything but human in that moment. She was something else. Something wild. Something powerful. Something that wouldn't put up with anyone's bullshit.

"Don't shut Morgaine and I out of your life yet. I fear that what happened to you wasn't the act of some solitary mortal. I don't have all the details, but something isn't right."

She chuckled, but there was no humor in that mockery of a laugh. "Nothing will ever be right."

"Yes it will be. I will do everything in my power to make things right." The tightness in his heart was a promise to her. "But for now, just stay close to Morgaine. At least until I figure things out."

"How do I know this isn't just a dream?"

Jareth laughed. "If this is a dream, allow me to fulfill one of my fantasies." It was probably best to start with one of the innocent, clothed ones.

He brushed his lips over her forehead. It was quick, over in barely a second, but Sarah's cheeks turned rosy pink, her skin heating beneath his palm.

"Expect your school to close for an indeterminate amount of time. That is how you will know this isn't a dream."

"I'm still mad at you," she grumbled without much venom.

"I know, Sarah. I know."

* * *

Hippolyta's story was horrifying and hard to believe, but she wasn't in the business of lying. She hadn't even withheld the truth, since she was only making an accusation. Not presenting factual evidence.

Oberon paced frantically in front of Hippolyta, wearing a path in the black and white marble tiles of his floor. She stood off to the side, wringing her hands nervously. The room was now flooded with light, several oil torches burning bright blue. They weren't flames, but small stars held captive in silver cages. His jet black hair shone indigo, as did his eyes.

"You must raise charges against her," Hippolyta pleaded. "Summon a council. I will appear as a witness. Seelie fae who purposefully harm mortals are issued the harshest punishments. She could be silenced forever."

He shook his head, still stalking in anger. "I cannot."

"Oberon, you must." The King's eyes were black and hostile as they turned on the Amazon. Friend or not, she was still beneath him

"Do not tell me what I must do," he hissed. "Never tell me what to do."

Her fear was long gone, he could see that in the way she carried herself. Hippolyta's carriage was erect, her long, slender body ramrod straight.

"Then allow me to ask you what your plan is."

"I haven't one, but I know I cannot bring her before the court. Nothing must be said of our meeting tonight."

Hippolyta was indignant as she cried, "Why not? Titania is dangerous. If she cannot harm Sarah, she will go after Toby, and eventually Jareth. Even Morgaine isn't immune."

Somewhere in the darkest places of his heart, Oberon feared for and doubted his wife. She was powerful, one of the mightiest queens of the Unseelie Court, but he always hoped that she would seek his protection. Seek his kingdom. Seek his bed.

"If I raise charges against Titania, Morgaine must appear by my side, as must Jareth. But Titania is very good at hiding. Making an arrest will be difficult."

Understanding and resignation settled in Hippolyta's glacial eyes. "And if Jareth and Morgaine are summoned, Sarah will be defenseless. As will Toby."

Oberon nodded, his steps slowing until he was just meandering. "My son's heir mustn't be harmed. Neither can his future wife."

"I am baffled by Toby, your Highness. Why is he Jareth's heir?"

He stood before Hippolyta, staring at his old friend. His face aged before her very eyes, even though no wrinkle nor grey hair appeared. Oberon would always look younger than his eldest son, but now, he seemed older than water itself.

"Jareth has no heirs. His many liaisons and trysts have never produced any offspring. Largely, that is his own will. He never had any desire for children. And then he found Sarah."

"He saw her when he was first thirteen, yes? She would be marriageable in the Underground." Hippolyta was smirking as if she'd told some hilarious joke, but Oberon saw the bitterness and resentment in her thin mouth. She was thirteen when Theseus kidnapped and impregnated her.

"Yes, but he didn't love her then." Oberon smiled, stroking his goatee, deep in thought. "When he did fall in love with her, he decided that it was time to retire. But, as you know, unless someone usurps his throne in battle, he must produce an heir."

"But he doesn't want his children to rule the Goblin Kingdom," Hippolyta offered. Oberon nodded, smiling at her intelligence.

"And that is where Toby comes in. If Jareth were to marry Sarah, Toby would be eligible for the throne. So, during Sarah's run through the Labyrinth, Jareth imparted a good bit of his magic to Toby. Crystals, peaches, all of the things associated with Jareth, Toby now has access to."

Hippolyta tightened her girdle, running her fingertips of the fletching on her arrows. Oberon paused slightly. Hippolyta may have not been a fairy, but she was still a demigod. Demigods were not to be trifled with. "But he didn't give Toby any actual magic, did he? He just gave the boy _access_ to his magic… his memories."

"Any magic Toby uses comes from Jareth. If he summons a crystal, he is simply stealing one from Jareth's hands. If he conjures a peach, it's effects will only be felt by Jareth and whomever consumed the fruit."

"So… if Toby was to craft a peach, and Sarah was to eat it, it would only lead to Jareth?" Oberon and Hippolyta faced off for several minutes. Hippolyta was always anxious to learn the inner workings of fairy magic, but Oberon was not in the habit of releasing his secrets. Tonight was the exception.

"It would trap both Sarah and Jareth until the poison wore off. Now, if you'll excuse me, I have business to attend to."

In an explosion of black, white and brown mottled feathers, Oberon was gone, leaving Hippolyta stranded and confused in his castle. The chessboard opulence of his feasting hall surrounded her, the starlight torches dimming until they extinguished entirely.

"Father," she whispered. "I must break the bonds of friendship with a woman I have long held dear. Her wrath will no doubt affect my own children, but I must venture Aboveground until this is settled. Sarah will need more than spells and potions. I know I can be of service to her."

_Hippolyta_, a voice called from every corner of the room. _I will watch your children. But for the millionth time. I am not a babysitter._

She smiled.

"I know, Dad. I know."

* * *

I hope this chapter answered any questions you guys had, and I know the conversation between Jareth and Sarah seems rushed, and probably artificial. But it had to end quickly, so… yeah.

However, now we know that Oberon's feelings for Morgaine are romantic!

Also, Hippolyta's father is Ares. She is one tough bitch.

And now, to answer reviews.

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**Gunitatsuhiko**: Well, now that the reunion is over, you'll have to be tickled over other things. Teehee!

**GeeAnnaB**: I gained ten. Stupid cruise and your delicious food! And if this story makes your lady parts tingle… then I think it's time I just posted some straight up Jareth/Sarah porn. Maybe a lemony one-shot.

**Helikesitheymikey**: The short story is just under 5,000 words long, so it may have to be split up into several shorter chapters. But there will be tasty, tasty lemons involved.

**AuntyMissyMissy**: Thank you! Welcome to the party! But… there's no more realism. At least I think there isn't. Sorry about that!

**Dark Angel Millenia**: By far the most knowledgeable character is Hippolyta, but she's incredibly tentative. Don't expect that many puzzle pieces from her. You can expect some from the other characters though!

**Solea**: God, that scene was hard to write. How the hell would anyone respond to that? I swear to God, I was so tempted to write it in this exact fashion, just to be done with it.

Sarah: So I got raped.

Jareth: Oh?

Sarah: Yep. Did you make this dream?

Jareth: Nope.

Sarah: Oh. Okay.I'm gonna grab a Pepsi.

Jareth: Bring me one, would you?

**Daughterofthe1king**: I'm a miserly reviewer. Whenever I read a multi-chaptered story, I usually forget to review every chapter. So far, I've only reviewed Lanabyte's and Writertron's stories regularly, but I'm trying to get better. Thank you for the review, and I'm glad you like that I used more than one mythos. Some people freak out about that.

**The Heroine With 1000 Faces**: We're starting to move away from the angst, in search of happier, more suspenseful pastures. After all, Morgaine's cover has been blown. No more helpful, mysterious neighbor.

**Writertron**: Sucks to be you? Heh, no, I just kid. Hopefully some stuff was cleared up with this chapter.

**Jinx1764**: Nope! It was somebody much smaller than Morgaine, with blonde hair.

**IrishIris**: I promise to keep updating regularly.

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Okay folks. You know what time it is.


	21. Chapter 21

Male gods were not known for being good men, save for Hades, strangely enough. They were rapists, pillagers, liars and cheats. Copulating with one's siblings or passing goats was perfectly acceptable. Patricide, fratricide and matricide were the orders of the day, along with copious amounts of wine and beer. That's why a good portion of their children were completely insane or entirely disappointing. Take Ares' offspring. The god of war was responsible for Anteros, the god of requited love, whose long hair streamed in the wind as he flew on beautiful butterfly wings.

Ugh, gay.

Then there was Cycnus, who loved his father so much, he wanted to construct a temple out of skulls and bones for his sire. Yeah, that didn't turn out so well. That fucking fag Heracles eventually stabbed Ares in the thigh and beat him to the ground, right after killing Cycnus. Little shit.

Harmonia was the goddess of harmony, Eros cursed himself to a life of monogamy by marrying Psyche, and nobody remembered Adrestia, even though she constantly rode out to war with him.

He really needed to stop sleeping with his sister.

But Hippolyta… Hippolyta was special. She was loved, remembered and noble. When Theseus divorced her, she waged war on Athens. Somehow, she managed to be feminine and alluring while kicking total ass. Of course he had to save her from the Underworld and make her immortal. She made him look good, and it pissed off all the right people, including Aphrodite. The tart. Heh.

Ares loved her, really, but he'd forgotten how awful her children were. There were three of them, _three_, and they were identical to one another. They each had black hair and blue eyes like their mother, which was odd, considering they were adopted.

"Grandpa! I want chocolate!"

"Ice cream! Ice cream!"

"I stuck a marble up my nose. It's stuck. Don't tell Mom."

Daphne, Delia and Dalia were gorgeous, smart and had the combined intelligence of an eighteen-year-old. This was no insult, as they were only six. They were only six, and they already knew how to use crossbows.

"Girls! Put those back where you found them!" Ares shouted as Delia and Dalia chased each other in the front yard. Daphne had finagled him into baking chocolate chip cookies. He only acquiesced to wearing the frilly pink apron because she cried at the drop of a hat. Ares would never admit it, but her tears hurt his very soul.

"But we found them in our toy chests!" Dalia… Delia cried as she fired an arrow at Dalia… Delia? The arrow sailed clear past her sister, past their fence, and right into the thigh of their neighbor's dog. Considering their neighbor's dog was Cerberus, Ares didn't feel too bad about it.

"I don't care! Put them back!" Daphne giggled, and it made him feel all warm and squishy inside. Until he realized that she was giggling because she set the bowl of cookie dough on fire.

"Yay! Now they'll cook faster!"

* * *

"A witch? Just because I wear black clothes and have a cat? Preposterous! I should go over there and show her just how witchy I can be."

The nerve of Sarah Williams! Who made her goddess of the universe? Maybe she needed a swift kick in the pants in the form of a bad case of syphilis or kidney failure.

Morgaine and Jareth had many things in common, and one of them was the propensity to pace anxiously when angry. Jareth had a Labyrinth to wander, and usually, Morgaine had acres upon acres of apple trees. But for now, she had to make do with her small basement. The mirror was sympathetic, purring slightly. Once, when Morgaine was furiously angry, she threw a four-hundred pound spell book at it. It took years for the mirror to recover from that little episode.

"Well, I cannot change now. If I start wearing color, people will assume I've gone mad. Perhaps I have, but I will not bend to Sarah Williams."

There was no warning, nothing to prepare her as Oberon simply walked out of a shadowed corner, his face clenched and angry as he stomped towards. Her mouth was about to open, no doubt in preparations for a shouting match; but before she could exercise her right to scream like a banshee, he'd crossed the room, swept her into his arms, and kissed her with so much passion, it felt like he was branding her.

His lips opened over and gathered hers, with the firmness only a man could pull off. The arms around her waist were more constrictive than corset lacings, but shock forced her compliance. Oberon's burnt eyes were closed tightly, so he did not see Morgaine's stunned expression. She hadn't hugged any man besides Jareth in thirty years, let alone kissed one. It had been so long that she'd forgotten how solid they could be.

Against her will, her eyes closed, her cheeks flushing so hard her freckles disappeared. Bevin and Diana were as far from her thoughts as Pluto from the sun. This was her husband. How they avoided this moment for so long was baffling. Not even at their wedding did they embrace in this manner.

Oberon's hands smoothed over her back, her cheeks, brushing wild brown curls over her shoulders to expose the pale column of her long neck. His fingertips fluttered over her collarbones, brushing along the sides of her breasts. The warmth of his skin reminded her that she wasn't wearing anything besides a silk bathrobe. In black, certainly. There were a million reasons to stop him – her history with men, the matter of her harem, the fact that he slept with anything that moved, millions. But they all lost out to the one reason that kept her from fending off his affections.

She wanted him to kiss her. Her body quivered against his in yearning, and she knew it wasn't men she desired. It was Oberon. Crisp, dark, unadorned Oberon, with his no-nonsense haircut and silly goatee. He backed her into a wall, imprisoning her against his broad, flat chest. His mouth moved to the tip of her slightly upturned nose, the dimple in her chin, and then back her to wanting lips. Her hands found purchase in the darkness of his hair, pulling him even closer, if that was possible. They shared the same breath, the same heartbeat, and it felt right.

"Morgaine," he murmured against her cheek as he kissed his way to her ear. "Morgaine, I must have you. Just for tonight."

In the darkness, his eyes were two black holes from which no light escaped, but they burned with need. And fear. "Please, give me tonight, for in the morning we will never be the same, no matter what happens between us," he pleaded before swallowing heavily. She watched his throat tense and relax.

'I'm a lesbian,' she wanted to scream, but a little voice inside of her whispered traitorously _no you're not. You are something else._ So she nodded, tears shining over her eyes as he sagged in relief. One of them, she wasn't sure who, spirited them away to her bedroom in Avalon. Instantly, she was assaulted by the sweet fragrance of apple trees in bloom. Her feet barely had time to recognize the coolness of her marble flooring before she was picked up bridal style. How embarrassing.

Her eyes were wide, melting pools of chocolate as Oberon gently laid her oh so carefully on her bed. He treated six-foot Morgaine as if she was something delicate and dainty, something worth protective. Strong hands gently pulled her legs until they were stretched out before him. He caressed her feet, which were always too long in her eyes, with such regard that she suddenly had no complaints.

"We will still be friends in the morning, my dear friend," Oberon intoned as his hands reached for the belt of her bathrobe. "I promise you that."

There wasn't anything she could that wouldn't spoil the moment, nor dissolve the spell enfolding them in rapture. It would all end if she opened her stupid mouth.

Again, she nodded, leaning back into her pillows. She took a deep breath, basking in the scent of down pillows and clean silk. How could she go back to that dingy, drafty farmhouse, knowing that all she had was a creaky mattress and flannel sheets?

How could they go back to being friends, when the man parting the folds of her robe was her husband?

Never before had she been shy over her nudity, but suddenly, she couldn't open her eyes. She didn't want to see his expression as he judged her small chest or thin thighs. He'd seen as many women as she had, but as doubt started to consume her, a very warm mouth kissed a wet trail down the slope of her belly. Up, up, up it went, between her breasts and along her throat, until a large, warm body settled over hers. They were aligned from head to toe, thanks to their impressive, matched height, but somehow Oberon was the larger partner.

"You are a terror, Morgana le Fay," he cooed as he lowered himself between her thighs. Her eyes snapped open when his naked skin collided with hers. Poised above, cool and pale in the moonlight, he a fearsome beast. One devoted entirely to her, for as long as their night would last.

"You are a terror," Oberon reiterated. "But I love you."

Oberon loved her?

'_Oh… fuck.'_

* * *

"Sarah! Wake up!" Toby shrieked as he shook Sarah. He'd been sleeping when he heard her fall to the ground. Her face was slimy, her hands too, and there was a peach pit on the ground. She wasn't supposed to eat it. Peaches were nasty. Yuck. She ate the whole thing, too. Bleh.

Girls were dumb.

Just when he was about to call 7-11, she opened her eyes, growling like Merlin as she rolled onto her side. "No more peaches," she said. "No more Jareth either."

"You saw Jareth?" Toby asked as he swiped at her gooey chin with the sleeve of his shirt. "Why did you eat my peach? Those things are gross."

Sarah peered up at him like he'd suddenly grown tentacles, which would've been neat-o. "Your peach?"

He nodded. "I meant to give you chocolate, but I got a peach instead. That's happened before, but usually I throw them away. They're too fuzzy for me. It's like eating a blanket." He thought she'd fallen asleep with her eyes open, she stared at him for so long. But then she acted like a total girl, and gave him the biggest hug he'd ever had to suffer through.

"Ger off!" he shouted as she wrapped her arms around him. He fought and fought, but she just held on. Eventually, he realized that resistance was futile. "Ugh. Stupid girls."

"You remember the evil witch next door?" Sarah said as she started to stroke his hair. It felt kind of nice, but she did the same thing to Merlin. Toby nodded as best he could. "We have to make friends with her."

"No we dun," Toby said again, liking how it kind of sounded as if he were underwater, all muffled and stuff.

At least he hoped they didn't have to, not until Jareth was his usual self.

"Can you let go now?"

* * *

"You what?" Morgaine shouted as she pushed Oberon off of her with a mighty shove. She threw several pillows over the evidence of his arousal, pulling a sheet over her naked body as she sat up. Oberon was rightly stunned as several candles burst into flames. What happened? Seconds earlier, she was wet and ready, and now she was dry as the Sahara.

And that it hit him.

"Oh no," Oberon groaned. "I said it out loud, didn't I?"

Why did he say it? He meant it, certainly, but it was the last thing she needed to hear. They were about to make passionate love to one another, and he had to open his big fat mouth! Blast it all! He prayed that she would stomp off in a huff, but Morgaine stared at him with venom in her pretty brown eyes. Aware of his nudity, he slid under the covers. Dear gods, this was going to be an uncomfortable conversation.

"I love you," he sighed in resignation, covering his eyes with one hand. His cheeks burned in shame, as did his ears and chest. "I know I shouldn't, but I do. I think I always have."

"You cannot be serious!" she cried, pulling more covers over them, as if they would change the fact that they were naked. "Oberon, tell me this is some tremendous joke."

He chuckled humorlessly. "I wish it was. You're not exactly loveable."

"Don't be an ass."

"No," he hissed. "Don't _you_ be an ass. We were about to have a lovely time, but you had to go and be a frigid bitch about it! You were as aroused as I am… was." Oberon looked at his lap. "Nope, _am_."

Morgaine's eyes shot down to his lap. She could see that he was painfully hard, at least he hoped she could.

She cleared her throat delicately. "I promise to forget about it for another… three hours or so, if you promise to rock my world."

Oberon blinked. "You are an odd creature. But if the lady insists…"

And insist she did. For three hours or so.

* * *

Three bedtime stories and two fire extinguishers later, Ares, Daphne, Delia and Dalia were curled up under a makeshift fort made out of pillows and bed linens. The triplets were curled around their grandfather, snoring softly as he tried keeping still as death. Like true Amazons, they woke up at the slightest noise or movement, and all he wanted to do was sleep. Between one awkward tea party and the hell that was tooth paste, he was exhausted. Now he knew why he was an absent parent. Children were horrible creatures, girls especially.

But they laughed at his jokes, and showed him the proper way to load a crossbow, even though he already knew. And sweet little Daphne used six Band-Aids on his booboo when he burned his finger. Ares thanked his father that Hippolyta believed in modern, Aboveground conveniences like first aid kits and paper towels.

And this was only day one.

* * *

Reviews?

* * *

**GeeAnnaB**: For there is foul play afoot!

**Writertron**: I didn't plan on including him, but your 'suggestion' was too fun to ignore.

**Erii Broadway**: Stalkers are fine too. :)

**WhiteInfinity21**: Yeah, he didn't know what he was doing. Damn chocolate bars.

**Avalon-Mist**: If you guys really want Ares, I suppose he can join the party, albeit not in a very big way. Titania versus a GOD would end really quick.

**Parsley the Lion**: Well, if we're going to be _completely_ accurate, we'll have to include Canada, as they still haven't received full emancipation from England. As well as the Bahamas, as every island must have representatives of the queen present in the local government. They're all part of the British Commonwealth.

Heh, no worries. It's easier to refer to England and Ireland as separate countries for the purposes of smooth writing. Jimmy Carr once told a joke at one of his shows in Ireland that there should be only one Ireland, just one island… completely under British rule. Yeah, it just makes things easier.

**Gunitatsuhiko**: Oh crap, and it just got bad again. Drat.

**Solea**: I didn't put my all into it tonight. I think I pulled a muscle or something.

**LadyNorth76**: Poor Toby is just caught in the middle of everything. Hopefully he'll stay out of trouble.

**The Heroine With 1000 Faces**: Madame Awesome would like to thank you for boosting her ego. She now blames any hubris on you however, so you can deal with the wrath of the gods.

**LittleMargarita**: The raccoon was just one of many animals to die that night. Maybe we should have one of those Academy Awards style memoir things.

**Helikesitheymikey**: I promise to sweeten any lemonade with sugar… and vodka. Lots and lots of vodka.

**Kiruya**: It's coming! I swear!

**animefangirlNoriko**: FOR GOD'S SAKE PEOPLE, GO TO SLEEP AT REASONABLE HOURS! THIS STORY SHOULD NOT BE READ WHEN YOU'RE SLEEPY, SICK, AT WORK OR EXERCISING. GO TO SLEEP!

Thank you for the review though!

**Zannna**: And here is the next chapter! I'm about to fall asleep, but welcome to the party. I hope you enjoy the ride.

* * *

Okay everyone. The one-shot is posted, and it requires reviews. GO NOW AND REVIEW!


	22. Chapter 22

In the weeks following the seminal confrontations between Sarah, Morgaine, Jareth and Linda, several things happened. Some good, some bad, and some ugly.

Oberon began an illicit affair… with his wife. Night after night, at the chiming of the thirteen hour, they snuck away to Avalon. They rarely engaged in conversation, save for an occasional bout of dirty talk. 'You like that, don't you bitch?' was the longest sentence Morgaine had yet to utter. In the morning, she would leave angry but satisfied, while her husband sought her forgiveness by tending her roses. Bearing in mind that he had no knowledge of botany, most of them died horrible, rotting deaths. Luckily Morgaine left before sunrise, and therefore couldn't see her ruined gardens.

He hadn't told her about Titania, because the sex was very nice, even when it was obscenely angry. He couldn't tell her anyways. There still wasn't enough concrete evidence to implicate his ex-wife, and really, what would it solve? Nothing could be done. Titania had yet to leave her hiding place, and if the truth came out now, it may find Sarah before Jareth could explain the situation.

Ares played the part of nanny, house servant, and teacher. It was an agonizing experience of shooing his daughter's triplets off to school, so he could clean the house and make dinner in peace, only to survive World War III every Saturday and Sunday. Daphne, Delia and Dalia were starting swordplay with one of Hippolyta's lesser Amazons, an Ethiopian woman who kept giving him the eye. She was hot, but, for the first time in his life, Ares was completely uninterested in sex. Now he knew why women got so many headaches just was they were going to bed.

Sarah kept her window closed with chains and a sturdy padlock. Jareth, unable to enter her room with all that iron, stopped visiting her. When Morgaine told him that Sarah accused her of being a witch, he knew that she remembered their shared dream. She could've still been ignorant to his rouse, but if she wasn't, she was more than capable of throwing him against a wall.

However, just as Jareth promised, Sarah's high school did indeed close. She knew it was the work of magic, because everything smelled a little too much like overkill. Every pipe froze and cracked, the boilers exploded, the kitchens caught fire, and the walls turned green with mildew. Toby's kindergarten suffered a more comedic fate. A local group of hippies started holding drum circles in his classroom, as the building was abandoned during Christmastime. No one knew how they got in there, but every night, they would sneak in to make horrible music and smoke marijuana. Eventually, the entire building smelled like an Amsterdam 'magic brownie' bakery. Both schools were promptly shut down.

Something was rotten in the state of Massachusetts.

Most peculiar of all, Sarah forgave Morgaine. Out of necessity, but she forgave her nonetheless. She and Toby needed protection, so three weeks after Christmas, they put on the winter best and went to visit their witchy neighbor.

"Whatever you do, Toby, don't antagonize her. Just keep your mouth shut. I'll do all the talking," she whispered as she tugged him down the esplanade, hand in hand despite his protests. He pretended that holding hands with his sister was gross, but she knew that if she let go, he'd run back into their house.

"I won't ant-guise her if she doesn't ant-guise me," he mumbled behind the scarf wrapped around his head. Blizzard after blizzard assaulted Salem, dumping thirty-eight inches of snow in barely a month. Sarah, knowing her school closed for less than honest reasons, had a feeling that the bizarre weather _wasn't_ acting up because Mother Nature was on her period. Especially since Painted Gable Avenue's sidewalks were always clear and dry, no matter how much snow and ice caked the rest of the neighborhood.

"Antagonize, Toby, antagonize," she chastised as she kicked open Morgaine's fence gate. The witch's yard was an eerie place. The roses had long since died, leaving skeletal bushes to gather snow and creak in the wind. The Grecian goddess looked incredibly melancholy, a waterfall of ice pouring from her pitcher. The frozen stream was crystal clear and very sharp.

Their footsteps slowed to a trickle the closer they got to Morgaine's front door. Light shined from every window, warm and yellow like daisies, but it left them cold. Now that the cat was out of the bag, Morgaine's home was as welcoming as The House of Haunted Hill. But courage and acquiescence spurred them on. Jareth had told the school would close down, so she resigned herself to _temporarily_ trusting Morgaine. Where else would they get answers?

Sarah gave Toby one last, ever so confident smile before knocking on the door three times. There was a slight shuffling that grew louder as it grew closer, and then the door swung open, revealing a frazzled Morgaine. Her hair was curly and untamed, the slightly frizzy tips proving that her hair was naturally kinky. She wore no makeup, not even mascara or lip balm. For the first time since meeting Sarah, she wore some color, even if it was just blue jeans, and an oatmeal-colored sweater that was two sizes too big and starting to pill.

"Good afternoon," she said amiably as she wiped her hands on a dishtowel. Sarah could smell peanut butter cookies and melting white chocolate. "How can I help you?" Her voice was innocent, but Sarah and Toby better. A lot better.

"Hello Morgaine," Sarah said without any emotion. Morgaine cocked one eyebrow, apparently surprised by the use of her real name, but not too surprised. She almost looked like she expected them to address her as such. "Can we come inside?" Toby curled himself around her leg, and she felt something press into her hip, probably his face. He was quite the ostrich when scared. Morgaine considered her for a while, before nodding.

Just as she was about to cross the threshold, Sarah asked, "Jareth isn't here, is he?"

Again Morgaine was surprised, but she offhandedly answered, "No," and continued walking into the house. Sarah urged Toby to follow with a comforting hand on his bundled head. It was only the scent of cookies that kept him from crying.

The kitchen was as Sarah remembered it, only now there were trays of cookies and bowls of candy. It was like the witch from the tale of Hansel and Gretel was cooking herself a new house. She didn't need to tell Toby that he was not to eat any of it. She could feel his fear even through her jeans and long underwear.

"This isn't an audience between friends, is it?" Morgaine asked as she went to her sink, washing a pile of mixing bowls and plates by hands. "Jareth told me you'd be coming for a visit."

"Yes," she admitted. "He also told me to stay… close to you."

"He told you a lot of things," Morgaine replied with a very British accent. "Just as he told me many things."

Sarah winced, shaking her head slightly. "What did he tell you?"

Ms. Lafferty, or whatever she was called, chuckled, but it was a sad sound. She didn't have to answer Sarah's question with words, but she did anyways.

"Everything."

They sat down to discuss everything that had happened and what needed to be done, using euphemisms whenever the story got too scary or graphic. Certain parts were glazed over, for the sake of little ears; but as Morgaine retold all of the information Jareth gave her, Sarah realized that Jareth _hadn't _told her everything.

Linda wasn't mentioned, not even once. It was a glaring fact that couldn't be ignored. Morgaine knew she was in New York but not why. She knew that there was a party involved, but she didn't know who threw it or who it was for. It made no sense.

There was only one person Jareth could've gleaned any information from, and that was her birth mother. Her Dad simply couldn't talk about it, and Irene was so tough that she was probably immune to any and all magic. That left Linda, who liked good looking men with exotic accents, who wasn't known for her fidelity. Thinking of Linda and Jareth together, in the biblical sense, made her sick to her stomach. Hopefully it hadn't come to that, because it was just nasty.

Maybe Morgaine _did_ know that her mother wasn't innocent, and just didn't care. Now that made her angry, unreasonably so. Not a day went by when she didn't feel like punching her mother, not just for the rape thing, but for abandoning her. It took getting assaulted in a park to realize that her mother's affair with Jeremy wasn't her fault.

"So what's in New York," Morgaine asked as she poured herself another glass of tea. She offered some to Toby and Sarah, but they rejected the offer for the third time. Snow White and Persephone would've agreed.

That settled it. Jareth had withheld the truth. Whether because he wanted to protect her, or because he'd fucked Linda, would be found out as soon as he got home.

"My mom," she replied flatly. Morgaine's expression was odd and slightly green, but before she could say anything, Sarah tacked on a caboose to that train of thought. "Why hasn't Jareth appeared before me as a human? We've been here for months now."

Morgaine's mouth twitched. She looked desperate to ask her about her mother, but she played nice and didn't pursue it. "He cannot unless you wish it of him. When you defeated the Labyrinth, and consequently Jareth, you became more powerful than him."

"But I have no magic. Toby does." At that, Toby decided he was done. The chair next to Sarah was knocked to the ground as he darted under the table, sitting on her feet with his face tucked between her knees. The kid had done stranger stuff, so she didn't bother moving him, no matter how fat the little turd felt. "I can't even get water to boil in the microwave."

"That's because you're a terrible cook, and don't realize that water will not boil if you only heat it for thirty seconds." Okay, so she was right, but Sarah didn't want to know where she found that out. Leaving some stones unturned was the best course of action.

"How would I even phrase that? I'm not very good with wishes." She could only imagine what she'd say. 'Dear Goblin King, are you there? It's me, Sarah.' 'Hey there Jareth. Listen, feel free to approach me in your usual form anytime you please.' 'Goblin King, Goblin King… put on some pants. Even though you're a cat, seeing you naked is wigging me out.'

"I suppose it would go something like this. I wish that the Goblin King would have power over me, so that he could…" The expression on Sarah's face could melt metal. Morgaine had the manners to blush a bit. "Nope, sorry, not the best idea. Let me try again… I wish the Goblin King would be able to appear before me, as whatever creature he chose. I also wish that his power would be as great as mine once more."

That seemed fair and without repercussion. Sarah couldn't find any loopholes that would give Jareth an untold amount of power. "I still don't understand why I have power, nor do I understand why I can't use it."

Morgaine rolled her eyes. "You're pitifully human, Sarah. While the Goblin King may have granted you certain powers, they weren't anything impressive. He granted you the power of priority. Your wishes will always be answered before anyone else's. That's about it."

Huh. Well that kind of sucked. She always thought she'd been giving something impressive, like invisibility or the ability to turn water into apple juice. But priority? That's it? _Lame._

"The only other thing he gave you was his heart, which is your real power." Morgaine glowered. "You have the Goblin King on a very tight leash."

More like the world on a string, sitting on a rainbow, she thought to herself, her heart slightly buoyant. If Jareth still loved her, then he most likely hadn't slept with her mother.

Why did that make her happy? That was a really messed up thing to enjoy.

"Forgive me, Sarah," Morgaine offered as she pushed away from the table. She patted her stomach, which was probably achingly full, since she'd eaten every cookie she offered Sarah and Toby. Which was about thirty. "But evening has set, and I have work to do." Sarah watched her gather the dishes, puttering back to the sink.

"Alright. But can I ask a few questions before we hit the road?" Morgaine grunted her approval, turning on the tap. Sarah cleared her throat. "Is Mordred your son?"

Perhaps she only imagined it, but Morgaine's hand seemed to shiver slightly. "No. He is the son of my sister Morgause, but I raised him alongside my foster son Ywain, and my daughter Rosalind."

"Ywain I've heard of," Sarah ventured cautiously. If Morgaine was Morgana le Fay, it was best to speak softly and carry a big stick. "But there's never been a Rosalind in any of the Arthurian tales."

"Most of the stories are sheer fabrication, the product of too many mouths and not enough quills." This time, Sarah was certain that Morgaine's long fingers were quivering. "I had a daughter… by Arthur, named Rosalind."

"What happened to her?"

Without realizing it, Morgaine nicked her palm on a stray knife. Blood dripped down onto her newly cleaned dishes, but she didn't seem to notice.

"She died," Morgaine croaked after a minute. "Now leave. I'm tired."

Sarah didn't need to be told twice. She groped under the table for Toby, dragging him out by one of his feet. He didn't so much as grumble when she picked him up, only wrapping himself tightly around her waist as she trotted to the door. It was cold and black outside, but the walk to their house was short and quick. Or it would've been short and quick, had Sarah not run into some unfortunate jogger out for an evening run.

"Oof!" the woman moaned as Sarah knocked her into a snow bank. Toby was jostled too, so he wiggled his way out of her arms and ran to the door. He made it safely, but now Sarah was alone, with a woman who was on the ground because of her clumsiness.

"I'm sorry!" she cried as she reached for the downed runner. Athletic was the best way to describe her. She was very tall and well muscled, much like an Olympic marathon runner or a Masai warrior, only she was pale and blue-eyed. The jogger smiled tiredly, slipping her hand into Sarah's, who was surprised by the woman's lightness as she pulled her up. She was almost six feet tall, but she felt like she weighed ten pounds.

"It's no trouble," she said, her voice impossibly sweet and high pitched, almost like The Childlike Empress in The Neverending Story. She brushed snow off of her black jogging suit, shaking the powdery stuff free of her equally dark hair. "I needed a reason to finish. If you hadn't bumped me, I would've kept running clear past midnight, and I have a friend waiting for me as we speak. Hence, I cannot stay."

The runner didn't so much as spare Sarah a passing glance as she turned away. To Sarah's horror, she walked up to Morgaine's front door, entering the house without waiting for permission. The woman looked and felt normal enough, but Sarah wasn't about to stick around to see how things worked out.

Fuck warning Morgaine's houseguests. They were probably all evil anyway.

* * *

"Grandpa, what's a fraction?"

"He's answering my questions first, you twit."

"Bugger off!"

Dinner had been an eventful affair in the house of Hippolyta. Ares and his granddaughters dined on a fine meal of stuffed grape leaves, roasted lamb with rosemary and lemon, spanikopita and moussaka. The girls, not a fan of Greek cuisine, got to eat undercooked macaroni and cheese, crispy hot dogs and salty popcorn, which thrilled them to no end. Most of the time, their mom cooked them lean protein and vegetables, which is the same thing that Cerberus ate.

On that note, Ares was the one who had to retrieve the arrow. Thank God he was immortal and could survive being swallowed and crapped out. Cerberus wasn't so lucky. After he took a bath, Ares banished him back to the Underworld. The note Persephone sent him was... almost polite.

_Dear Ares,_

_I cannot thank you enough for sending back Cerberus. It's not like I spent three-hundred years trying to get rid of the mutt. It's not like he just ate the entire couch. No, I don't mind that when he goes to the bathroom, the pile of feces he leaves on my favorite carpet is larger than a carriage. I am perfectly alright with Hades inviting the creature onto the mattress with us. Sex is __**not**__ awkward with a three-headed dog panting at the foot of the bed. As for that diamond necklace my husband gave to me on our three-hundredth anniversary, Cerberus found it quite tasty, especially when paired with the silver music box my mother gave me. That's alright, I'd hardly want him to go hungry._

_You are a DEAD man, you idiot! I swear to Zeus, I will lace Aphrodite's wine with the strongest aphrodisiac I can find, and then sic her on you just when she starts to menstruate!_

_May you never find peace,  
Persephone_

_P.S. Die, asshole._

Ah yes, his aunt was always charming and graceful. She was probably the person who arranged his after dinner entertainment.

Without telling Ares, the triplets had chosen to wear matching pink nightgowns, braiding their hair into identical pigtails. They assured their grandfather that they weren't trying to mess with his mind, but they kept addressing each other directly, so he had no idea who was who. He was guessing that the little girl knitting a scarf on the couch was Daphne, and that the other two must've been Dalia and Delia. They were chasing each other with riding crops, which were Jareth's Christmas gifts to them.

The Goblin King was a dead man.

* * *

I rather like ending chapters with Ares' forays into the world of babysitting. Unless I need an evil cliffhanger, I think I'll try to end as many chapters as I can with him and the triplets, just because it's great comedic relief. Writing the letter was so much fun.

Anyways, review time.

* * *

**Gunitatsuhiko**: I hope this chapter made you giggle. Everyone needs to giggle every now and then.

**Lost and Never Found**: Hey… Shut up. I hope your cat knocks your candle off for the fifth time. So, nanny nanny boo boo, roll around in doo doo.

**Megan Gwin**: Can you just imagine the great Ares reading a recipe book, maybe something like the Betty Crocker Cookbook? I think it's too much fun to resist.

**Helikesitheymikey**: Oh yes. Toby hands Sarah either a fuzzy piece of chocolate or a brown, melting peach. She'd probably love it, right after she hid it in the trash.

**Writertron**: Suggestion, comment, pot, kettle… Just shut up and enjoy it, you limey. I'll show you something that can cook faster.

To all my British readers… hi! How are you? I know that at least one of my other reviewers is British. She reviewed 'Rocky Road to Dublin'… I think. Well, I just wanted you to know that I've always wanted to visit your beautiful country. Just not during the winter. I hear it's really cold this time of year.

**Nyanko tenshi**: It's just so unlikely that I have to write it. I couldn't resist.

**GeeAnnaB**: Feet are afoot!

**Solea**: It wasn't supposed to. I just needed to set some things up. It was a filler chapter. I can't promise that there won't be any more of them, but they'll be considerably rarer.

**Jeni27**: Okay, I'm confused… does that mean you didn't read the first five chapters? You know what, I don't care, I'm just happy you reviewed. Welcome to the show! And you would be correct. Nothing happened in this chapter. It just set a few things up, since this chapter occurred weeks later. I needed a bit more action before things sped up.

**Dark Angel Millenia**: It is very different for this story, because it's nothing but comedy. I try to speak in his voice as often as I can, without making it seem too much like inner dialogue. And I guess it would be make-up sex, although for Morgaine, at this point, it's probably just sex-sex. She probably loves him, but we don't know that yet.

**Dragon Ashes**: Ares. Ancient Greek god of war. Babysitting his grandbabies. And making them dinner. I nearly died writing it.

* * *

Alrighty folks, there you have chapter twenty-two. Go and read 'Rocky Road to Dublin', then review it, as it is NOT going to be a one-shot. There was just too much to say for it to be told in just one chapter.

Oh, and as for you, **Lost and Never Found**, I posted this chapter when I wasn't about to fall asleep.

I am blowing a raspberry as I write this.

Nyeh.


	23. Chapter 23

Okay, I'm putting this in the beginning, because I am a whore. Check out Rocky Road to Dublin, so I can invade the Labyrinth fandom and make it my own! BWUHAHAHA!

* * *

Toby was a kid. By all rights, he shouldn't have needed to worry about the witch next door. Morgaine was Sarah's problem, as was Jareth. She was selfish though. She needed her baby brother to tell her everything would be okay, even though he could barely remember that he was right-handed. He tagged along without complaint, letting her cry and moan and huff like the spoiled child she'd once been. Sarah knew she was being unfair to Toby, and for once, she had a basis for comparison – her own childhood. Having a bad mother was one thing, but being put in harm's way by a needy sister took unfair to a whole new level.

Enough was enough. It was time to put on her big girl underwear, and give Toby a break.

When she got home after knocking over the jogger, Toby was already hiding in his room. Her Mom and Dad were out of town for the night. Apparently a very well-paying client had knocked up the babysitter, and was looking for loopholes in his prenuptial agreement, given that a divorce was probably in his future. Irene and Robert left an envelope full of cash on the counter, in addition to the longest list of emergency numbers Sarah had ever seen. Doctors, dentists, nannies, babysitters, maid services, pizza places, plumbers… rodent removal? Really?

No precaution was too trivial or paranoid. Every windowsill was lined with a thin stream of kosher salt, which would provide protection from witches _and_ non-orthodox Jews. On the front and back doors, she hunger cast iron skillets from steel nails. A silver necklace was wrapped around the doorknob leading to Toby's room, plus an unopened jar of minced garlic. Because Salem was overridden with werewolves and vampires. If there was something she could find to fend off zombies, she'd have shoved it in every keyhole.

The last thing she did before leaving the house was probably the most effective. She turned off the lights, and locked the door behind her. The forest encroaching on her backyard was dark and treacherous, but that's where Toby had seen the witch in the fur coat. Maybe, just maybe, summoning Jareth would be more effective there.

Swallowing past the lump of fear in her throat, Sarah tightened the scarf around her neck, and applied one last layer of lip balm. Rough winds buffeted from every direction, stirring up still dry snowflakes into her unguarded eyes. Boy did it sting, like a bitch, but what other choice did she have?

Those first few steps into the trees were the hardest. Without the moon and the stars, everything was that much darker, but she couldn't even spare the weak glow of a flashlight. She was going in blind, trudging over down branches and granite boulders, all the while hampered by a foot of snow, at least. A merry tune hummed under her breath – Karma Chameleon – did nothing to distract her from the dead silence surrounding her.

"Lovin' would be easy if your colors were like my dreams," she sang weakly as she moved farther and farther from her house. The moment she made it through that first row of trees, she left the modern world behind. "Red, gold and green. Red, gold and green."

Her brain was trying to talk her out of it. _It's cold. Toby's alone. You don't watch the evening news enough. When was the last time you gave yourself a manicure?_ But her heart was having none of that. Toby's magic wasn't strong enough, and loathe as she was to admit it, she wanted to see Jareth again. In person. In the flesh.

She stumbled onto the witching circle mostly by accident. Because of the darkness, she arbitrarily made left and right turns, mostly to avoid getting hit by wayward branches. But there was no mistaking the clearing for anything but a fairy stomping ground.

The snow was _glowing_. It was emanating light as opposed to reflecting it, softly as the bioluminescence of lightning bugs. Sarah gasped as she realized that the icicles were also luminous, shimmering faintly blue and purple. Their radiance revealed pearly tree branches, and a boulder covered in cerulean ice. The splendor was deceiving though. Jareth's magic was beautiful, even at its ugliest. Obviously the witch's enchantment would be just as alluring.

Standing there, with the world around her burning white and blue, Sarah almost lost her nerve. She wasn't very good when it came to making the right choice. The entire episode with the Labyrinth was evidence of that. Toby, however, was very good at decision making. He never wondered about what ice cream to choose – "I'll take two scoops of the blue stuff." – unlike Sarah, who was so unsure that she usually left Baskin-Robbins empty handed. He never questioned his judgment.

Maybe she should've brought him along with –

No. No. This was something she could and would do by herself. But not if she kept up with the procrastinating.

She cleared her throat, closing her against any possible carnage. How had Morgaine phrased it? Oh yes.

"I wish the Goblin King would be able to appear before me, as whatever creature he chose. I also wish that his power would be… greater than mine once more."

Yes, greater than hers. If his power was only _as_ great, then they were both screwed in a very royal way. Morgaine said it herself. Her only power was priority, which didn't get her anywhere, even at the post office.

Sarah winced as she finished voicing her wish, but nothing happened. She didn't feel any different – certainly not weaker – and Jareth had yet to appear.

"Oh, and I wish the Goblin King would appear before me. Right now," she added for good measure.

This time, something knocked her over with the power of an eighteen-wheeler. Covering her eyes with her arms, she fell backwards, cushioned by several inches of snow as a strong gust swept through the trees. It shook icicles off the tree, a presence announced by the chiming of a celesta.

"Sarah!" a man's voice called as the world settled back down. She knew who it belonged to.

No one had a voice like Jareth's.

* * *

There wasn't even time to breathe when Hippolyta came marching in, dressed in a nylon track suit. The Amazon didn't bother with banter or greetings. Saying hello was for people who had time.

"You cannot murder Linda Williams," she barked as she stepped into the kitchen. "No matter how much you want to."

Looking up from the plates she was drying, Morgaine offered a wry, self-satisfied smile. "Good evening, Hippolyta. You are more than welcome to stay with me during your trip Aboveground."

"Did you hear anything I just said?" Hippolyta continued in disbelief. Snow dripped from her, some soaking into her hair. "You are _**not**_to harm Linda Williams. What good will come of it? I know your sense of justice is warped, but ill deeds can't be avenged by more ill deeds."

Morgaine like Hippolyta. Her frankness was refreshing. She never engaged in pointless mind games, nor did she waste words. Proper fairies wouldn't approve. Such direct bluntness was uncouth and untoward. But Morgaine took it in stride, returning to her washing with a smile.

"She would be getting what she deserves. That woman has few responsibilities. Protecting her daughter should be the most important." A sultry, haughty tone returned to her voice. "You would do the same if it happened to one of your daughters."

"But Sarah is not your daughter," Hippolyta snapped in a tone she'd never employed before. Anger chilled her eyes to ice as she stomped over to the sink. "You don't wish to help the girl. You wish to assuage your guilt over the death of your daughter. This isn't righteousness. It isn't even vigilantism. You just want to kill something."

With a disturbingly tranquil smile, Morgaine cooed with a sing-song quality, "And if I do? I hardly think you're qualified to stop me. I've killed many people. One talentless whore won't keep me up at night." Hippolyta's brows lifted incredulously.

"Do you hear yourself? You want to kill someone just because you've done it before!" Hippolyta scoffed. "And you claim you're not a sociopath."

In Hippolyta, Morgaine usually found a kindred spirit. Just not now. On that thought, she bristled slightly. While not quite as egomaniacal as Jareth and Oberon when it came to her royal status, she didn't like being questioned by someone so beneath her.

"What I do with my spare time is none of your business," she retorted snappishly. "Now have a cookie. I have about two dozen left."

"Cookies? _Cookies_?" Her expression stunned, Hippolyta stumbled over to the table, collapsing in the first available chair. "Morgaine, please, listen to reason. Killing Linda Williams will only hurt Sarah. Celebrity deaths only result in heartache for their children."

"Alright, fine, I won't kill her," she sighed. This conversation was growing tedious. Both Morgaine and Hippolyta could hear the lie in that careless statement. Even if she didn't kill Linda Williams, the woman would still pay.

In pain, if not in death.

* * *

The snow crunched as someone knelt by her side, and there was only one person it could be. So _maybe_ being on her back for her first meeting with the Goblin King wasn't _exactly_ what she wanted. But what the hell, he was here! And he even helping her sit up! She couldn't feel his hands through her heavy parka, but his strength was unmistakable as he drew her against his chest.

She could feel a scream bubbling in her throat as a hot breath ruffled her bangs, but she bit her tongue. He was here because she wanted him. Shouting in fear would just be bad manners.

"Are you alright?" he asked as he brushed snow away from her forehead. This was not the epic reunion she'd imagined. There was supposed to be glitter burning against the setting sun, and words of poetry exchanged between two enemies who weren't really enemies, but rather passionate rivals. He _wasn't_ supposed to be all cuddly and worried for her.

"I'm fine," she protested as she lowered her arms. He was just as he remembered her. Ancient and youthful. Wild but groomed. Completely mismatched, yet somehow completely put together. His hair was still layered and choppy, falling around a face cut from ivory. A face set in a deep frown.

"You're supposed to threaten me now," she joked weakly, thinking it would lighten the mood. It didn't. Jareth held her tighter, his eyes strangely glassy.

Crap, not this again.

"No!" she chided him, flicking his forehead. With her mittens on, it was more like a gentle nudging, but it startled him nevertheless. "Don't act like a girl. I want one man in my life to be manly. Just _one_. Is that so much to ask?" Jareth's mouth opened and closed several times, but eventually he sort of nodded, and for a moment they just stared at one another.

Disappointment was all Sarah could muster up. Where was the drama, the urgency, the yelling? Jareth was her villain, her big bad wolf, and here he was, acting like the damsel in distress. Talk about a letdown.

"You can let go now," she prodded as snow started to seep through her jeans. If he held any longer, her ass would be soaked and she'd still be outside. "My parents aren't home, so we should go back to the house."

"You locked me out, Precious," he said dryly, but he got to his feet, pulling her with him. "I've tried seeing you."

"I locked the cat out. _You_ are allowed inside." And inside is where he took them. She didn't see a crystal, but in the blink of an eye, they were in her room. Her vision was a bit blurry, but Jareth was polite enough to help her sit down on her bed.

"So, tell me Jareth," she began casually. "When did you see my mother?"

* * *

"Can we watch Indiana Jones?"

"No."

"What about Clash of the Titanic?"

"It's _Clash of the Titans_, and no. I'm not in it."

Somehow, Hippolyta had rigged a television and VCR in her daughters' playroom. They had hundreds of movies, but no, that wasn't enough. They had to raid their mother's selection of films they were too young to see, like 'The Exorcist,' which they'd watched without his knowing. Ares found out though easily enough, considering they slept under Hippolyta's bed the night they saw it.

And now they wanted to watch a movie with him. On top of that, they wanted popcorn, soda and various candy goodies.

"Can we watch Snow White and the Seven Dorks?"

"It's dwarfs!"

* * *

At last, they meet! You shall now thank me by reviewing. I will say you're welcome by answering your reviews.

* * *

**GeeAnnaB**: Rex Ryan has a foot fetish.

**Jeni27**: Thank you for clearing that up, ;)

**Lost and Never Found**: It felt weird because Morgaine is a sociopath.

**Avalon-Mist**: What should he do next?

**Writertron**: And here's your interaction!

**Zannna**: Well duh! What else would little boys say?

**TCMoore**: Instead of fruitcake, a hellhound? Oh yeah!

**Gunitatsuhiko**: And the wish was made!

**Dragon Ashes**: Think of it this way. When a hormone-stricken, migraine suffering woman demands sex, _or else_, wouldn't you be afraid?

**Megan Gwinn**: I may have to write something for the Greek Pantheon since the new Clash of theTitans SUCKED and had nothing to do with the original myth.

**xWeepingAngel91x**: Yes, but essays help us graduate.

**EunHee Kim**: Ares is the god of war, but that doesn't excuse him from being a good grandfather.

**Helikesitheymikey**: If Toby were to meet the triplets, no one would survive. Though you have given me an idea…

**LittleMargarita**: Cerberus is such a sweetheart. Until he eats someone.

* * *

Okay folks. Review. Now. Read Rocky Road to Dublin too.


	24. Chapter 24

Okay everyone, I know this chapter was slow to be written, but I just started school again, and it was hard settling into a routine. I will try to post at least one chapter a week from now on, and I promise they will be longer than this one. If you want something longer, check out the next chapter of Rocky Road to Dublin. It's hella fun.

And I am a whore.

* * *

Etta James was crooning "At Last" from the old record player Oberon had set up on the buffet table, the volume low enough to allow the singing of crickets and tree frogs to be heard and enjoyed. Morgaine was only minutes away, and he wanted to set an adequately romantic mood before she arrived.

Humming along, he straightened the plates of chocolate goodies and fresh fruit for the millionth time, jostling the icer a bit, to make sure the champagne bottle was thoroughly submerged. It was perfect, but if she didn't like champagne, he had a Riesling and a Gevurstraminer chilling in the bathroom.

As the song was coming to its final bars, Oberon heard a persistent knocking coming from the hallway. He straightened his bowtie and walked over to the door to answer it. The minute he opened the door, the breath was knocked from his chest as if someone had taken a shillelagh to his stomach.

"Hello stranger," Morgaine uttered softly as she adjusted the brown paper bags weighing her arms down. Several delicious aromas wafted into the room – rosemary, salt and browning butter – but they were nothing compared to the little black dress hugging Morgaine's perfectly proportioned curves. On a smaller woman, the length of the one-shouldered gown would've been demure, but with Morgaine's height, it was almost obscenely short. It skirted along her thighs a full six inches above her knees, and was made only slightly decent by its single long sleeve.

"I haven't eaten a thing all day," she complained in a stronger tone as she heaved the bags into his hands. "I plan on eating enough calories to satisfy a bear preparing for hibernation." Oberon chuckled as he handled the take-out bags, absently noting that there were two mysterious canvas sacks. One was obviously her crafting tote, while the other smelled suspiciously of cookies.

Tall and stunningly beautiful, Morgaine was everything was everything he could ever want. Graceful, poised, slightly goofy, and she was all his, in some ways at least. She was the only woman he'd ever truly loved, or at least could see himself being involved with for any extended period of time. He even looked forward to being a father with her. That particular notion had his heart doing little back flips as he nudged the door closed with his hip. Considering his own children were generally disappointing, he was surprised that he even wanted to attempt fatherhood again.

Even more surprising was the he planned on going through with it. Morgaine was powerful, but it would be easy enough to poison her body into fertility. He'd already laced every bit of chocolate with the appropriate potion, expertly crafted by one of his Unseelie lovers.

He wanted a family with his bride, a troupe of tiddlywinks with the darkness of their parents. Oberon loved his adult children. He really did. Jareth and Patricia would always be first in his heart. Enyo and Enlil may not have been first, but they were beating out everyone in second place.

But when he married Morgaine, the need for a brood of his own grew to mammoth proportions. Dreams of little feet puttering around his castle, shaking the doors and windows as they took chase, filled his head at night. Replicas of himself and Morgaine were all he could think of.

"So why a hotel room?" she asked curiously, kicking off her ridiculously high heels. Both feet were crisscrossed with angry red lines – her shoes must have been too small. "It's nice, but Avalon would've done."

"I'm planning a very thorough seduction my dear." Grinning, he placed the bags on the buffet, pulling out little cardboard boxes of Italian entrees and appetizers. "Has Hippolyta arrived at your house?"

Morgaine scoffed as she finger combed her stick straight locks. "Yes, and I don't appreciate you sending her to me. What have you done with her children?"

"Ares is watching them," he quipped as he popped open the champagne. "I hear he's having a ball."

"Ha! More like he's enduring a nightmare. Daphne is sweet enough, but Delia and Dalia are terrors. Did you know that Hippolyta wants to marry off Daphne because she's too kind?"

"My dear," Oberon chided as he came up behind her, wrapping his arms around her tight waist. "I have no desire to speak of our friends at this moment."

Laughing, Morgaine turned in his grasp, swishing her hips a bit as she draped her arms about his shoulder. "And what do you want to speak of."

His hand migrated from her back to her face, cupping her jaw just below her cheek, his thumb moving back and forth out of habit. But how could it be habit when they'd only been lovers for a few weeks? Intimate gestures like that were the domain of couples who'd been together for centuries.

"Nothing, dear," he whispered as he lowered his mouth to hers. "Nothing at all."

Her mouth was warm and smooth, and set an uncomfortable heat pulsating through his veins. A thousand dreams of an unbelievably pleasurable future flashed in his mind. Dreams of family, friends, holidays and even lovers' quarrels. It was the life he never had with Titania, the life he hoped he could have with his new wife.

Even if it meant impregnating her without her knowledge.

* * *

Jareth was beginning to feel more like a babysitter than a king, but as he pushed Sarah's heavy hair over her shoulder, he decided that being a king wasn't nearly as fulfilling. They'd talked for hours, without fighting or shouting once, but she was still exhausted. So when she told him so, they walked downstairs to Toby's room, where she crawled into bed beside her brother. The boy didn't even move as Sarah wiggled her way under the covers, still in her down coat and snow boots.

Sarah was surprisingly accepting of the situation. After carefully explaining that he had spoken with her mother, she nodded and let him continue. They discussed what was going to happen, and what needed to happen. Coming to an agreement, they decided that Jareth would remain by her side as a cat, and only appear as himself whenever they were both in Morgaine's house.

Someone had it out for Sarah. He'd been blunt about that, purposefully frightening her into submission. They didn't say anything of her attack, except that it wasn't the work of a drunkard in a park. In truth, Jareth wasn't sure if that was the case, but if she was afraid, she'd be more likely to seek out his help. And he wasn't about to look a gift horse in the mouth.

She didn't hate him, but she wasn't interested in friendship. She wasn't frightened of him, but she didn't trust him. He'd tried to convince her during their conversation that he hadn't done anything with her mother, but there was still a slight glimmer of disbelief in her dark eyes. But she looked good, smelled even better, and was asleep by his hip. Wrapped around a boy he loved almost as much as her.

There was no doubt about it. One way or another, he would have them as his own, even if it came down to kidnapping. No one ever accused the Goblin King of being a good man, so why pretend to be one?

He tried to smile as he pulled to covers up around them, but he couldn't, wouldn't. Many things were waiting on the horizon, none of them good. But for now, for now he would just be happy, and pretend that everything would be okay.

"Sleep, Precious," he whispered as he pressed her lips to forehead. Sarah murmured in her sleep, retreating even farther under the covers. With a single thought, he was a cat. A beautiful cat, but a cat nonetheless. He had his stripes, his spots, his mismatched eyes, but not hands to hold his family as he settled between them.

"Oh no," Sarah mumbled unexpectedly. "It's freezing in here. Get under the covers or I'll get Merlin to sit on top of you."

'_Spoiled brat,'_ he thought to himself, though he didn't really mean it at all. She wasn't spoiled, not anymore, but she still got what she wanted more often than not. And he would be more than willing to give it to her, he surmised as he wiggled his way under the covers. It was a tight fit between Sarah's padded form and the blankets bundled around Toby, but they accommodated him, and before he knew it, the three of them were all asleep.

* * *

Linda Williams was dead. An eighteen wheeler slammed into her limousine as she was driving to the airport from her estate in the Hamptons. It was sudden. It was tragic.

It wasn't the act of a human. Hippolyta was certain of that. The morning after she begged Morgaine to spare Linda's life, the actress was dead and no one smelled foul play. People died in car crashes all the time. The well heeled and famous were no different. Celebrity didn't equal immortality. That was the culmination of the Epic of Gilgamesh, and it was the final chapter in the story of Linda Williams. But Hippolyta knew better. As she sipped her morning coffee at Morgaine's breakfast table, her eyes scanned the front page of the New York Times. The article was maudlin. 'Linda Williams was a credit to the stage. Nothing burned brighter than her ambition and talent.' Of course, she was survived by her longtime partner, Jeremy Eden. Sarah was thankfully unmentioned.

"Oh Morgaine," she sighed as she turned the page to continue reading. "What have you done?" There was no proof, but she knew it was Morgaine, even though Jareth hadn't come home that night. No, he was wrapped around his strumpet, probably eating biscuits in bed as Toby watched cartoons. There was no reason to untangle himself just to seek vengeance. He had what he wanted, at least temporarily.

Finishing off her third cup of java, Hippolyta flung the paper away from her in disgust. Morgaine must've left while she was sleeping. The witch queen couldn't pause time indefinitely, but she could alter it to suit her purposes - certainly enough to torture a person to the point of death, heal their injuries, and then make their demise look like an accident.

Hippolyta looked to the snow falling outside the window, her heart caught in a trap. Maybe the idea only came to Morgaine because she suggested it. Morgana le Fey was known to be ruthless, in both sexuality and violence. But Morgaine… Morgaine was a good, God fearing woman at heart. A good deal of her reputation solely on rumors and hearsay. Did you hear what Morgana le Fey did last night? Does she really sleep on a bed crafted from the bones of unborn babies? Her last lover? Oh, the bloke's body was fished from the Thames just this Tuesday.

Shaking her head in disgust, Hippolyta picked up her mug and walked it to the sink. As she rinsed it under painfully cold water, she thought about her daughters. She wanted them to be righteous and lawful. Amazons were wild and monstrous berserkers on the battlefield, their naked bodies glistening in the sun as they charged down the pitch; but then they went home to their daughters, so they could cook pot roasts and Yorkshire pudding. Cruel and fearsome they may have been, but they weren't outright murderers.

It wasn't worth the mental agony, she decided as she turned off the tap. The sun hadn't even risen – the newspaper hadn't even been written yet, but it would be. It was one of several publications she received before anyone else, because she loved newspapers, and could only read them in the hours before her daughters awoke. Maybe she'd read the rest later, but for now, she was going to bed.

Once Jareth and Morgaine returned, she'd unleash hell in the form of her own Spanish Inquisition. But for now, she'd rest.

It would not be a dreamless sleep.

* * *

Ares hadn't meant to eavesdrop on Morgaine and Oberon's conversation, but he was just so goddamned bored. For the first time ever, the triplets had gone to bed on time without fuss. They were tired after a day at the lake, but as he settled down to watch some ten-year-old romantic comedy on the television, he wished that they were still awake and boisterous.

So Hippolyta wanted to marry Daphne off because she was too kindhearted? He wasn't surprised. His daughter inherited that attitude from him. As much as she loved her children, she still wanted suitable heirs, and Daphne would never be a proper broodmare. She was simply too sweet for that. Daphne deserved more than marriage to a faceless stranger.

"Grandpa?" a little voice called from the doorway. Speak of the devil.

Turning his head to the side, he peered at the little girl in the pink frilly nightgown. She was a tiny thing, the top of her dark head barely skimming his waist. Her features were much softer than her mother's as well. The triplets were probably of Eastern European descent, maybe even Russian.

"Come here, Daphne," he ordered sternly, but Daphne simply smiled and bounded onto the couch. He caught her about the waist, swinging her into his lap. The chit giggled and rested her head against his firm chest. Ares could no longer count his age in human years, but he only appeared to be in his thirties. He looked more like Daphne's father than her grandfather.

The little girl didn't say a word after that. She just settled herself against him, and fell asleep in the safety of Ares' arms. Stroking the dainty black curls away from her forehead, Ares considered his options. He could take away the triplets, but that would break Hippolyta's heart. Neither could he separate the triplets, for they loved each other dearly. Marriage was probably the only option for her if she wanted a non-Amazon life. But the only viable solution for a kind husband was Jareth's heir, Toby something or other.

Now there was a queer thought.

* * *

Reviews! Yay!

* * *

**Mistyblue**: I promise to keep it coming. I really want to finish this story, just so I can say I finished a multi-chapter fic for the first time ever.

**Spartiechic**: Ares reminds me of when I used to babysit my aunt's kids! Those guys were horrible!

**GeeAnnaB**: I try not to think about that wrinkled old prune.

**Dragon Ashes**: I tried writing out their conversation, I really did, but it just wasn't working. So I skipped it altogether!

**Writertron**: Did I now? I guess I have a new skill to add to my resume! Now, ahem, why don't you read my mind and, oh, you know, write something soft and sweet for Valentine's Day? I'll even help you with it!

**Gunitatsuhiko**: Which one?

**Dontgotaclue88**: It isn't awesome, but I am a good liar, don't you think?

**Helikesitheymikey**: The jar of garlic was closed, but I imagine when her parents get home, they'll be pissed about all the iron.

**Avalon-Mist**: Ares was decidedly not funny this chapter, but I was feeling bad for Daphne.

**LittleMargarita**: And with this chapter, the plot comes to screaming halt.

**Megan Gwinn**: Huh. Thank you! I hate rereading my own stuff, so I often overlook mistakes. I think it's time to get a beta…

**Darkbangle**: Don't worry. I seem to be bad at updating this story regularly. I will get better if you do.

**Gypsyassassin**: Ares is everyone's favorite. :)

**Villains R HOT**: Maybe I should just give Ares a tiara and sash saying "Character of the Year"…

**The Heroine With 1000 Faces**: So… beans will fend off Non-orthodox Jews?

**The Hooded Falcon**: Honestly? Just because I wanted to. But they will be important to the plot fairly soon. That's all I'm going to say. Wink wink, nudge nudge.

* * *

This chapter was EXCRUCIATING to write. Seriously, it hurt. A lot. Like bamboo shoots under fingernails hurt. But, it's done, and we can move on.

Expect more trauma and evilness coming our way.

Tata for now!


	25. Chapter 25

From the waist down, Sarah was caught in Toby's baseball themed quilt, curled around a corner stitched in the shape of home plate. From the waist up, she was still toasting in her parka. Toby had somehow managed to wedge himself between the wall and the mattress. It couldn't have been comfortable, but kids enjoyed wiggling their way into awkward positions. She had woken up briefly, and was just about to fall asleep, when something wide and wet licked from her chin to forehead. And, despite her secret hopes and desires, that wide, wet something had nothing to do with Jareth.

"Yuck!" she screamed in surprise, bolting up in disgust. Slobber dripped down her cheek, and in the darkness, Merlin panted like there wasn't enough oxygen in the room. He was sitting there by the bed, one-hundred pounds of lazy sheepdog upholstered in white and grey yarn. And apparently, he had to pee. He nudged her gloved hands with his nose, whining his case. _'I have to pee. I have to pee. I will pee in Irene's shoes if you don't take me out right now. I'll do it. BRING IT.'_

This wasn't the first time he'd ever woken her up just for a potty break, but it was the first time he'd ever done it in Massachusetts. Despite all that fur, he didn't like the cold weather. Snow was for St. Bernard's and their sissy Swiss owners.

The corners of Sarah's lips lifted in sleepy delight. Cats were wonderful, delightful creatures, but whenever someone said they were a cat person, she just wanted to laugh. Sure, intelligence and independence were great, but unconditional love was better.

"Alright, you big walrus, let's go for a walk," she acquiesced, grumbling good-naturedly as she swung her legs over the side of the bed. Starting towards the bedroom door, she patted her thigh. Merlin took his cue and followed her obediently, chuffing happily as they trudged to the backyard. Sarah didn't bother with Merlin's leash, simply opening the door instead. It was cold and wet, so the big lug wouldn't venture much more than ten feet. Nothing got Merlin to hustle like a good pee, sniff, pee, sniff session, except for table scraps. He was oddly though tentative as he delicately padded into the powdery yard. Figuring it was just the darkness (yeah, Merlin was afraid of the dark), she flipped the switch to the patio lamp, but the light bulb didn't ignite. She flicked it a few times, but nothing happened.

"It was working earlier," she muttered. "Weird." Weird, but not unusually strange. It was a light bulb after all, and no one had changed it since they'd moved in. The house was wicked old too. The electrical system was bound to be shoddy.

"I'm coming Merlin," she quietly called out, shuffling down the steps, into two feet of fresh snow. A storm must've rolled through while she was sleeping.

Looking at the sky, Sarah tried to figure out what time it was. However, having no knowledge of moon or star cycles, she could only deduce that the sky was black, the stars were white, and the moon was so bright it was casting moon shadows all over the place. Like over the itty paw prints walking towards Morgaine's house. Huh. So Jareth was gone. It made sense. He couldn't spend the entire night. But why did it hurt just a little bit?

Sarah exhaled on a sigh, following Merlin towards his favorite tree. The snow was thick around her knees, slowing her down to a snail's pace, but speed wasn't the issue. Was there even an issue, she thought to herself as he cheeks started to smart from a brisk wind. Something inside of her longed for the Goblin King, not Jareth the fae or Jareth the cat. The Goblin King was a jumble of contrasting personality traits. He was physically imposing, filling any room he occupied, even though he was svelte and coltish. One of his eyes was perpetually cold, while the other warmed her soul like hot chocolate on a winter's night. He was cruel to her but loved children.

Well… maybe he loved her too. In his own determined way. Strongly suspecting that Jareth was quite the epicurean gentleman, Sarah figured that he would pursue anything he found pleasurable. And if his treatment of her was anything to go by, he greatly enjoyed her.

The cold eventually became too much, and with a final, unhappy sigh, Sarah stumbled over to Merlin, shaking her head at his antics. He was staring up into the skeletal branches of the tree, cocking his head back and forth like an inquisitive sparrow. One of his ears perked up, then the other, shifting yet more hair over his eyes. Sarah wasn't even sure what color his eyes were anymore.

Laughing slightly, Sarah chided the large mutt, saying "Come on boy. If your bladder isn't empty, feel free to empty it into Dad's boots." Her fingers wrapped around the fur over the back of his neck, tugging and pulling him back towards the house.

But just as she was shifting herself, she realized something was horribly wrong. For when she angled herself to turn, a long, dark shadow spilled onto the ground by the back porch.

Nothing had ever cast such a shadow there ever before.

Then the shadow stretched and widened, inching over her boots. It chilled her very bones, and it felt like her flesh was on fire. Her feet were burning and melting. This must've been what frostbite felt like.

That wasn't the scary part. She wasn't truly frightened until the blackness of the shadow was interrupted by two glowing green eyes.

Just as she was about to scream, the world went horribly black. It wasn't the first time she'd ever lost consciousness, but that didn't make those last few seconds of consciousness any less terrifying.

* * *

Another night, another role. This time she was both Odette and Odile. One was mournful, one was deceitful. As a fae, Patricia had been both.

The taxi ride to her apartment was a blessed respite from the hustle and bustle of the ballet world. Champagne toasts and performances were wonderful, but sometimes she just wanted to munch on a TV dinner before falling asleep on the couch, while Clint Eastwood drunkenly romanced Shirley MacLaine under the desert sun.

Tiredly slipping her key into bolt lock, Patricia shouldered her way into her small home, shaking snow from her long platinum locks. She failed to notice the vase of long stemmed roses on her coffee table, nor the bowl of sugared plums. However, she did notice the lanky man reclining on her worn, floral patterned couch. He was a wild looking thing, all angular, hawkish features and mismatched eyes. His hair was chopped into uneven layers, haphazardly falling to his lean, almost womanly shoulders. He tapped a riding crop around his booted heel, grinning at her with the glee of the cat that ate the canary.

"Hello Patricia. Have you missed your dear older brother?" Jareth intoned smoothly, one tilted brow arched into his bangs.

Oh, how welcome his face was in a world full of mortals. Leaving Jareth was the hardest part about becoming a human. Enyo and Enlil had each other, the blonde, blue-eyed twins practically incestuous as children, their bond was so deep. They wanted nothing to do with her. Jareth did. He was already an adult when she was born, but he had a soft spot for all children. He raised her. Not Titania. His face would always mean love. His face would always mean home.

Just not tonight.

Eyes widening in horror, Patricia stomped towards Jareth, shaking her head in doubt. "You must leave now!" she urged, tugging on his hands. His dove grey gloves were warm and familiar, and they anchored her to the moment. They weren't enough to distract her though. "Mother visited me not too long ago. If she knows you're here, we're both dead! I don't even want to know what she's been up to."

Jareth snapped to his feet and attention. "Mother was here?" he demanded, quickly covering his shock with a stern cough. "What did she say?"

"It doesn't matter, it doesn't matter!" Fear colored Patricia's sweet, slightly squeaky voice black. "You must go. I can't afford mother's drama." It didn't really matter, as she hadn't even spoken to her mother. She had Lucinda to thank for that. Treacherous as the other fairy turned ballerina was, Patricia owed Lucinda a huge favor.

Jareth's face pleaded for more time, and she could feel the same desperation pooling hotly in her cool blue eyes. So she placated her desires by cupping his face in her hands.

"There's a time and place for us," she murmured, "but it is not here nor now. Someday son, brother. Someday soon."

"I intend to marry a woman I've been pursuing," he said as he conjured a crystal, leaning into her right hand. "Will you attend my wedding?"

"Of course, Jareth."And with that, he was gone. Hopefully for good.

* * *

Before she died, Titania's mother told her to cling to her family, to fight for her husband, and to cherish her children. No matter how bad things got, they would remain by her side, for blood was thicker than water. Make things work, her mother insisted. So many of the old queens were dying, and their ways were dying with them. Motherhood was no longer an honorable profession, and monogamy was completely unfashionable. Fairies were leading lives of excess, and despite her mother's wishes, Titania wasn't about to abandon the pleasures of the flesh. Maintaining a sturdy household seemed easy enough. Spoiled children were happy children, and the longer her husband's leash was, the longer his noose would be. It wasn't long enough though. Oberon divorced her during the roaring twenties, but her troubles began far earlier than that.

Jareth was more beautiful than all of his siblings combined. His eyes, his hair, his nose… what a striking creature he was! Handsomer than Eros, and far more skilled in the bedroom. Just ask the daughters of any Seelie king. No one ever complained about that. Titania had always harbored a deep sexual attraction to her older son. Lying with him would be lying with herself; and nothing was more arousing than that thought.

He left her though. As soon as he had a firm hold on the Goblin Kingdom, he forgot all about his longsuffering Mummy-Love. Exposing his family to ridicule by taking an Unseelie throne wasn't enough for him. No, he had to shut his mother out of his life completely, maintaining a life of privacy. Conquests were done in secret, except for that Sarah brat.

_ Sarah_. What a disgustingly human name. What a disgustingly human girl. A pig nosed, petulant child, spoiled and demanding, who complained about fairness. Life was never fair. Titania's life was the perfect testament to that. Oh, how Jareth pined for that ugly, selfish cow. From the day she turned thirteen, he wanted her, desired her, _loved_ her. She was an unusual little bird, practicing Shakespeare in the park. He thought her to be his Viola. Androgynous, confrontational, and quite the little princess. Sometimes he wanted to bend her over his knee, but not to spank her.

If anything, she'd be the one spanking him.

As though that weren't horrific enough, the wench rejected him. He was to offer her dreams, and himself, stepping down from his throne to give her the world and his time. To raise a family with her. And she turned him down, leaving him to loll away eternity in darkness and depression. Angry as she was, Titania's heart wept at seeing her son so despondent and unhappy. That he would still pursue the Sarah twit was even more distressing. The wench ruined him. She deserved to die a million horrible deaths.

Hopefully she'd suffer through her first one tonight.

* * *

Sometime after their fifth viewing of Snow White, Daphne was really tired. Extra tired. Super duper tired. But she just couldn't bring herself to leave Grandpa Ares' side. He wasn't as cuddly as her teddy bear, but she missed Mommy. Mommy hadn't even called in weeks. No one was more wonderful than Mommy, but sometimes, Daphne got the feeling that Mommy needed a vacation. More so than other mommies.

Snuggling up firmer into Grandpa's side, Daphne stared at the ceiling of the bed linens they'd turned into a tent. What would happen when Mommy got home? Would things go back to normal, or would Grandpa stay forever? Some of her friends' grandparents lived with them. It would be really cool to have the god of war around. He could force Dalia and Delia to be nice to her.

She was pondering the subject of Grandpa when someone came into the room. Someone with a high, childlike voice.

"Hey pancake batter."

Someone who sounded a lot like her mom.

* * *

Usually I would put individual responses to your reviews, but I need to post this chapter. I promise to respond all of you in the next chapter, and I apologize for the wait between postings. School is crazy busy, and I no longer have a life. But writing this soothes my soul, so fear not. Things will get better.

I would like to thank GeeAnnaB, Villains R HOT, Sapphire Vial, darkbangle, Dontgotaclue88, Avalon-Mist, Dragon Ashes, Gunitatsuhiko, Solea, Mistyblue, helikesitheymikey, Little Margarita, and The Heroine With 1000 Faces. You guys have been with me from the start. I will address you properly come next chapter.

All you new reviewers get a personalized response now.

**Nanenna**: Uh… okay! I will make sure to talk to her secretary. She called Sarah a strumpet because she was angry with Morgaine, not Sarah. Think nothing of it.

**Reader 143**: And thank you for your review!

**SpaceDHead3**: I hope so!

**Mari Strange**: I have invested in a beta. It really was laziness on my part and my need to pop out chapters as fast as I can. I wanted this story to be finished before my spring semester. As you can tell, it wasn't.

**Evanglia123**: Thanks for reviewing all the chapters that you did. You're incredible!

**Avaloneartha**: Mists of Avalon does rule!

**CoffeeWench**: Guess who loves your work? Me! Me me me!

* * *

Alright, review. REVIEW!


	26. Chapter 26

The back of Sarah's head ached, and she couldn't move her hands or feet. That much she knew. But she couldn't see anything. The only taste in her mouth was burning, sharp, metallic fear. It coated the roof of her mouth and lips, no matter how much she tried to lick it off.

Whimpering, she rolled from her side onto her stomach and burrowed against whatever she was lying on. It was fluffy but knotted, cushioning her on all sides. Pillows? Was she on a bed? Sarah took a trembling breath, writhing against her restraints. Someone must've bound her wrists and ankles, and thrown her on a bed.

"I'm going to _kill_ you Jareth," she murmured, wiggling some blood and feeling back into her fingertips. "I should've know better than to trust you."

"I'm sorry, Sarah, but Jareth would've bound you in silk. You're lucky that I didn't mummify you in nettles," a decidedly female voice answered back. "And don't even think about touching my son."

Uh-oh.

Uh-oh!

All of a sudden, her vision returned, something ripped away from her eyes. So she'd been wearing a blindfold. As her vision was flooded with light, Sarah blinked away the shock and pain. The warmth and glare had her seeing spots, but once they cleared up, she wished they would've stuck around for a little bit longer.

A fine mist of dust floated in the air, a layman's version of Jareth's glitter. It stunk of straw and animal filth. Sarah looked around, her green eyes darting back and forth like a bullet ricocheting off steel. She wasn't on a bed. She was laying on a mass of freshly shorn wool and cotton that hadn't been carded yet.

"You're as uninspiring as your foolish mother," the voice said, drawing Sarah's attention to it. The voice was a petite woman with long blonde hair that she kept pushing over her shoulder. She was hovering above Sarah the same way the doctors did after fixing her nose.

Sarah swallowed past the stone in her throat. Her arms felt heavy and her toes were cold. "You know my mother?" she whispered hesitantly, her voice rough and raw. It sounded so much worse than the first time she spoke after the surgery. The progress she'd made through months of therapy and speech lessons was suddenly gone.

The blonde chuckled, but it was a cruel sound, lacking joy or good spirit. She smiled, but it wasn't human. She was just showing off her strong, white canines. "I know your mother very well. She was my husband's lover for over two decades. They began their liaison _years_ before you were born. It only ended once your parents divorced."

Holy shit, this woman was crazy, Sarah realized with dread as she pressed herself into itchy fabric beneath her. This woman was crazy, and she was going to die.

"My mother's dead?"

The blonde smiled that awful smile again. "And rotting in a morgue. By the time of her funeral, she'll be nothing but sludge. Don't worry. You won't be around to see it, as you'll be locked in your darkest memories until Mordred arrives. He's dying to see you again."

"Mordred?" Sarah breathed. "Like Morgana le Fay's son?"

Morgana as in Morgaine?

"He's not her son, you twit," the blonde hissed, rolling her eyes as if that bit of information was common knowledge. Sarah knew that it wasn't. "He is the bastard son of Morgause and Arthur, the product of rape and incest. Morgana was his foster mother. It's no wonder he was so willing to rape you. Morgana isn't known for her kindness."

So many things were running through Sarah's mind – her kidnap at the hand of Jareth's mother, her own mother's death, the identity of her rapist. But she could only focus on one thing.

"I could be Jareth's half-sister?"


	27. Chapter 27

Titania's eyes were blue fire trapped in a pale marble mask. She could feel her rage boiling to the surface as she stared down the black-haired trollop who dared to dally with her son. But this possible revelation, this horrible probability, hurt more than the idea of losing her son.

_The river sleeps beneath the sky… _

Of course she knew about her husband's infidelities. There was no way not to. Her own friends bragged about Oberon's notorious skills in the bedroom. And that was just the remarks of Seelie fairies. Who was to know how many Unseelie demons he bedded before coming into the light? The only woman in Titania's company who never bedded the King of the Dark Forest was Hippolyta. That comfort was miniscule at best.

_ And clasps the shadows to its breast._

Yet this was more painful than any of Oberon's indiscretions, because all though he bedded many women (and the occasional Adonis), he only fathered children with her. Or so Oberon had led her to believe.

_The crescent moon shines dim on high…_

Wrapping her slender fingers around Sarah's neck, Titania bent forward until she was nose to nose with her captive. "No," she sneered, gritting her teeth against the pain. "That's not possible. Your mother was nothing but one of his many whores. She wasn't even that impressive."

_ And in the lately radiant west…_

A dark shadow passed over Sarah's eyes, a veiled and weak threat. Titania bared her teeth in a mockery of a smile. "Oh, so _now_ you feel something towards your mother. Something besides utter contempt and bitterness. But why my dear?" Titania dug her thumb against Sarah's windpipe, expecting her to sputter and beg for breath. The girl didn't even cough. So she had some fight left in her? That could easily be amended.

_The gold is fading into gray._

Titania lifted one thin leg and straddled Sarah's hips. "Your mother never loved you," she said, lifting the pressure of her thumb. "How could she? You held her back more than your mind-numbingly boring father, though he never wanted you either. You were an unhappy mistake."

_ Now stills the lark his festive lay…_

Though she could breathe, it seemed that little Sarah had been astonished into silence. Titania viciously pressed on. "Oh yes. Linda was just about to leave Robert when she missed her first menstrual cycle. There wasn't the money for an abortion, so they were saddled with you."

_And mourns with me the dying day._

With her free hand, Titania pushed her hair over her shoulder. She'd left it down for the occasion. The wheat-blonde hanks shined like polished gold in the sunlight bleeding through the holes in the roof. The thatched barn stunk of animals and dried leather, but Sarah more than deserved such a shameful death.

_While in the south the first faint star…_

ThenSarah's eyes narrowed defiantly, the mossy green ring of her irises nearly disappearing into her lashes. "Oh yeah?" she taunted. "And what about Jareth? I'd say he was _saddled_ with you. I can only pray that he ages better than you have. You're, like, at least five-hundred years old. At least that's when Shakespeare wrote _A Midsummer Night's Dream_ about you."

_Lifts to the night its silver face… _

Her heart stopped in her chest. Sarah was supposed to be completely ignorant to her name, her identity, everything. "How could you possibly know that? Jareth hasn't spoken of me in years." Beneath her fingertips, Sarah swallowed heavily.

_And twinkles to the moon afar… _

"I just do," she replied. "And I must say, the portrait I envisioned was much prettier, and far more feminine. Not to mention younger."

_Across the heaven's graying space…_

The girl was playing with fire. And worse, she was winning. Titania's ego was fraying at the tips. She could feel it in her stomach, her skin, her heart. This couldn't be possible. Jareth must've said something, must've hinted. Humans were ignorant to the magic around them. They certainly couldn't know a fairy they hadn't even met by name. Unless…

_Low murmurs reach me from the town…_

"It cannot be," Titania whispered. "It mustn't. I will not tolerate such a disgrace." Sarah barely had enough time to blink when Titania passed the curse into her heart, through the hand still coiled around her throat. The fainting spell came on quick and hard, instantly thrusting Sarah into sleep, and no doubt her darkest dreams. Her eyes fluttered shut and her face went slack. The faint, twitching frown her mouth tilted into was the only sign of life.

_As Day puts on her sombre crown…_

Titania gasped, reeling away from Sarah's still body as fast as she could. Her feet got tangled in the cotton and wool, and she ended up flat on her rear, one hand on her breast as she fought for air. Her eyes, now chilled and lifeless, raced up and down Sarah's body. She was pale and plain, even softer and more unremarkable than her mother. Even her hair was ordinary. Despite its shine, it was black and straight. It would never hold a curl.

_And shakes her mantle darkly down. _

Oberon's hair was just as dark and straight, and couldn't hold a curl either.

* * *

"Hey pancake batter."

Ares twitched a bit as he woke up, shivering at the memory of a bad dream. He dreamt that he was humiliated by a raging lesbian with more testosterone that him. Then he realized that _wasn't_ a dream, but rather every family dinner he had with Athena. Stupid bitch.

That was beside the point though. Hippolyta was back and she'd woken up Daphne, who would wake up Delia and Dalia, who would bring on the end of the world. On the wings of a cotton candy flamingo. (They'd only recently discovered the word flamingo, and now every single goddamned bird was a fucking flamingo. They went through a similar period when they found a picture of a mandrill.)

But when he saw that Hippolyta was dressed for battle and a ball, he immediately roused himself, wiping some cookie crumbs off his chest as he stood. She wore the girdle he'd given her over a skirt of leather strips studded with rubies and onyx. Her breastplate was made of the same leather, but it was paper thin and molded to her torso like a corset. She adjusted the leopard skin palla draped across her left shoulder, before pulling on the bracers wrapped around her slender forearms.

"Are we going hunting?" Ares asked eagerly."Because that would be fucking _awesome_. Bring on the hookers and beer!"

Hippolyta frowned, pinching the bridge of her nose as she shook her head. "No, Dad. We're not going hunting. No hookers, no beer."

"So we're riding out to war? Sweet!" Fuck yeah, riding out to war would be sweet. It was only his favorite thing to do… next to baking cakes with Daphne. Not that ANYONE would ever find that out.

"Uh… kind of," his daughter responded, dropping to one knee in front of Daphne so she was almost eye to eye her. However, since she was one inch shy of being six feet tall, the top of Daphne's head barely brushed Hippolyta's chin. Ah, the girl really was something wonderful. Bitch was hardcore. "Please go to your room, Daphne. I'll come and say goodnight in a minute."

Daphne smiled, but it was quivering and almost frightened. She didn't know why her mother looked like Amazon Barbie, but it only led to running across the battle field alongside a bunch of women with only one breast. Thankfully, Hippolyta had a complete set. Aphrodite wasn't fond of the children he had with other women (all three-hundred-fifty-seven of them), but she insisted on keeping Hippolyta's boobs intact. It was kind of weird actually.

Offering Daphne a roguish smile, he watched as she wandered back to her room. "She's a good kid. Now what the hell do you want, you ungrateful brat. I haven't even heard from you in, like, a month. Did you forget you have, oh, I dunno… fucking triplets from hell?"

Hippolyta whimpered slightly and looked down at her feet. Awesomely badass or not, she was still his daughter, and he was the man of the house. That's right, Zeus, _the man._

"Uh… I've been a bit busy. With Morgaine and all."

"Blah blah blah," Are scoffed, pantomiming talking with his hand. "Now what's with the gear? This better be important."

"Morgaine's muses, Diana and Bevyn, were murdered." Hippolyta said with a firm, steady voice. "Their bodies were skinned, and their entrails were slung over Jareth's throne. A couple of goblins are dead too. They were burned alive."

Ares' stomach gave an unpleasant flip. "That's fucking gross, but it doesn't explain why you're decked out like Patton in drag."

"This was under the throne." Hippolyta handed a crumpled piece of paper. It was spotted with blood and smelled awful. He smoothed it out in his palm, giving it a cursory glance. It was just a list with two sets of columns, labeled 'muses' and 'artists'. He would've gone with pimps and hoes. It was for the year 1969. A few of the muses he recognized. One name stuck out in particular.

His own.

He was listed three times. The first time he was listed alongside Audrey Hepburn, then Ms. Foxy Brown herself, Pam Greer, and finally Rock Hudson. No one was supposed to know about that. Ares lifted his eyes to Hippolyta, who looked less than amused.

"It was a bet between me and Apollo, and I only did it once! I was on top, thank you very much. And I pictured your mother when I was doing it," he quipped indignantly, sticking his lip out as he glared at her.

"You don't even know who my mother was," she responded.

Oh.

Woops.

"Yeah, we'll talk about this later," he mumbled, looking back at the paper. More names, more celebrities, a couple of goats, and a couple of names no one expected, least of all him.

"Holy crap. Oberon and Linda Williams?" he chuckled. "Nice. I hear she's a tiger in the sack." Ares' laughter died out as he sobered up. "What does this have to do with anything?"

Gingerly taking back the sheet of paper, Hippolyta tucked it into her girdle. "The very next year, Sarah Williams was born."

"You mean that Jareth and Sarah could be brother and sister? That's kind of kinky." He looked up with a smile, fondly remembering the days of bonking Aphrodite when no one was looking. Hippolyta blanched.

"Um, ew, but that's not the end of it. There's a bit more incest to get through. I found a similar list after I buried the bodies."

For a minute, Hippolyta just stared at him. In the background, Indiana Jones saved Marion Ravenwood while the dishes in the sink began to smell. So he wasn't into cleaning. Big deal. That was women's work. He'd keep that bit of information to himself however.

"And…?" he finally asked, breaking up the silence. Hippolyta sighed.

"It was over a thousand years old. And it featured Morgause, Morgaine's half-sister." Hippolyta sighed. "In one year, she raped Gawain, Agravain, Gaheris and Gareth. Her own children."

Which was still pretty kinky, at least to Ares. "You mean to tell me that Morgause did the unwilling nasty with all of her children _except_ Mordred? Shouldn't he be happy about that? I wouldn't want my butt tampered with, if you catch my drift."

"There's more. Morgaine then took all of them to Avalon to chill out for a while, to heal. But she wouldn't allow Mordred. He was just a bit too crazy for her tastes, which already run batshit insane." Hippolyta's muscled shoulders lifted in a shrug. "He grew up wanting to be loved by her. Her rejection was the straw that broke the camel's back."

Things were starting to fall into place, and although he had a policy of murder first, questions later, Ares decided to think about things instead. Linda Williams and Oberon were lovers for years, and Oberon possibly fathered a child with her. No doubt this would piss off Titania, who'd had to deal with Oberon before. He did trick her into sleeping with a donkey-headed idiot, after all. When combined with her hatred of Oberon's new wife, Morgaine, things could only go from bad to worse.

Since most ex-wives were already bent on revenge, the next logical step would be to hire another person bent on revenge. Mordred fit the bill quite nicely. He hated Morgaine, and would do anything to hurt her. Killing her lovers and raping Sarah would do more than injure her. It could break her.

"Does this mean I get to kick some fairy ass?"

Hippolyta answered with a broad smirk.

Ares began to giggle.

"Fucking awesome!"


	28. Chapter 28

While Hippolyta outfitted herself in her personal armory, Ares snuck away to Daphne's room. Dalia and Delia had dug a trench out in the backyard and were reenacting the Battle of the Bulge, so he knew his favorite would be alone. He nudged open the door with his shoulder, slipping in as quietly as he could, given that he'd already suited up for war.

Daphne was asleep in her bed, bundled tightly in her ruffled pink comforter and polka dotted sheets. All of her pillows and stuffed animals had been knocked to the ground, but somehow her child-sized wooden targe still clung to her arm. The small, circular shield was painted like black figure pottery, with her mother's hounds as her insignia. Around the rim of the targe, Greek letters spelled out 'I ride to war for the honor of my mother and the Amazons,' but beneath that somebody had taken a blue crayon and scribbled 'Grandpa too!'

For the first time in... maybe ever, Ares felt his eyes prickle with tears. It felt like they were on fire, burning and stinging even as they grew slick and watery. He blinked away they itchy wetness, because he was a man damn it, and men did not cry like little girls. Unless they were visiting the Anne Frank house.

Kneeling at the side of the bed, he reached for her, slowly drawing the shield off her forearm. Gently placing it on the ground, Ares frowned at the deep red welts on Daphne's delicate pale skin. The straps were too tight. They'd need to be oiled and loosened, or replaced altogether. Maybe he should make her a new one.

He took her slender hand in his much rougher one, using the other to rub and massage her injured flesh. Healing wasn't one of his numerous gifts, as he was practically genetically programmed to do the exact opposite, but the thought of Daphne in pain made his gut clench. She was such a trooper, but that didn't make it okay.

"Daphne-kitten," Ares whispered, cupping her cheek. His palm was nearly almost as big as her entire face. "Wake up babe. Now, damn it."

At the command, her little nose wrinkled and her eyelashes fluttered, but with some jostling that almost verged on manhandling (plus a gentle 'wake up or I'll kill your dog') she drowsily opened her eyes.

"Is it morning already, Grandpa?" she asked, sleepily rubbing her eyes with a tiny fist. When she was tired, her voice was deeper than her mother's. How awesome was that?

"I have to leave," he replied sternly, cutting to the chase. "Like, now. Seriously."

Bluntness paid off with troops (and his kids), often causing them to stand to attention like he shoved coal up their asses. Daphne just blinked.

"You're coming back?" she asked with equal bluntness, her delicate oval face set in a grim, determined frown. She borrowed that expression from him. Damn, the girl was a prize.

"Eh, maybe." Ares answered with a shrug, twirling one of her curls around his thick index finger. "Honestly, I need to go out and… wrestle something."

When he said 'wrestle', he really meant 'maim,' 'kill,' and 'fuck.' Not in that order. But Daphne was five years old. She probably didn't know what any of those words meant.

"You could wrestle Ursa Major," she murmured as she settled back against her mattress. Ares grinned, smoothing his hand over her belly so her pajamas would lay flat. This night, it was absolutely darling. She must've snuck into the guest room when he wasn't looking, for she was wearing a tent-sized KISS t-shirt that had eternal beer stains and numerous cigar burns. It was clean though, thank Zeus.

"You're right. That bear's had it way too easy, hasn't she?" Yeah, easy. Turned into a bear by Hera, nearly killed by her son and then thrust into the stars by Zeus. Every now and then though, when no one was looking, he'd take her out to dinner, and bang her sweet ursine ass until she was ready to claw him to death.

No, they never bonked while she was in her bear form. But she kept some of her more feral traits when she transformed to a human, like her need to try and bite off his penis if he got too rough. Goddamn, she was sexy. There was a good chance that Ursa Major was actually Hippolyta's mother, but there Aphrodite and every whore in Greece had the same chance. It was just cool to think that Hippolyta was descended from a bear.

"You'll come with me to Mount Olympus soon. We'll light rockets off in Athena's apartment. We could even get a cannon if you'd like."

But Daphne was already asleep, probably dreaming of knitting and puppies and complete chaos. After months being around him, she was turning into quite the little hellion, but she would always be Daphne, always be kinder than her mother and softer than her sisters. And that was alright. There was more to life than war and blood. He just didn't want any of it. But he would give all of it to Daphne.

"Father," the sweetest voice in the world called quietly. Hippolyta. "We must go."

Ares nodded.

"Fuck yeah.

* * *

Hours later, after dinner and dancing, Oberon and Morgaine were lying on the bed together. Oberon was tied up in silk and scarves, deliciously naked. He still looked so young, so strong. Every inch of him was lean and shredded like a sturdy danseur noble, ready to catch his ballerina as she came down to Earth. His eyes, dark and fierce in his square face, traced the figure of his bride. She sat next to him, in a slinky negligee. Morgaine watched him with hawkish accusation in those chocolate irises, taking a drag from a joint made from premium marijuana. Yes, Morgaine loved her some hash, especially when she was pissed off beyond belief.

"You honestly didn't think you'd get away with it, did you?" she asked tightly, trying to keep the smoke in her lungs for as long as possible. It kept her from shouting at him. Oberon lifted his shoulder as best he could. Morgaine used one hell of sailor knot, plus more than a little magic to bind his heads above his head and to the headboard. Really, it was overkill.

"You can't blame a man for trying, dearest." The look in Morgaine's eyes clearly protested that thought, but Oberon pressed on before she started shrieking. "I've wanted a legitimate child for quite a few years, and I certainly didn't want one with Titania. That woman has a dreadful case of vagina dentata, quite literally I suspect. Besides we've been seeing each other steadily for a few months now. You can't tell me you haven't thought of it." Morgaine was quick to reply.

"I honestly haven't. I didn't even kiss you at our wedding, let alone fuck you stupid. And stupid you are, you overgrown gnat. I've been making potions since I was six years old. I invented the one you used tonight." Smoke puffed out of Morgaine's nose like fire from a dragon's snout. "And worse, you did it wrong. You only have to puncture the corneas of the newt eyeballs, not rip them off altogether."

Oberon's ego took an earth shattering blow. Not only over the potion, which was humiliating unto itself, but because Morgaine didn't want children with him. It was baffling. They were healthy and voracious adults, and both of them had deeply disappointing families. Why not start over with a beautiful Unseelie baby of their own?

Alas, that wasn't in their future, but Oberon couldn't help but let his head drop back against the pillows in defeat. As his eyes closed, he felt Morgaine's long fingers brush his forehead.

"Oberon," she whispered. "We have no business bringing a child into this world. We're simply too old for it. If you aren't, I am. I don't want another mouth to feed, another sapling to care for daily until I get a useless tree." The bonds around his wrists slithered away, hissing steadily as their softness turned to cool scales. She used snakes to tie him to the bed? What purpose did that serve?

Pushing himself onto his elbows, Oberon's chin fell to his chest. He couldn't look at her right now, he just couldn't. He started to say Morgaine's name, but someone beat him to it.

"Holy shit, Morgaine. Talk about nights in white satin! Looks like you and your husband got a little carried away."

It couldn't be.

Instantly, Oberon's eyes snapped open. They flew to the voice, as it could only belong to one person. He prayed he was wrong, but he wasn't. At the foot of the bed, with his arms crossed over his broad chest, stood Ares, god of war and frat parties. And he was smiling.

"It looks like you're a grower, not a shower, eh Oberon? Talk about big things coming in small packages."

"Jesus Christ!" Oberon shouted, trying to duck unto the covers, but his feet were still bound.

With King Cobras.

"JESUS CHRIST!"

He felt the forked tongues of the cobras flick delicately against his ankles as the coiled and constricted around his legs. They were huge, venomous, and moving towards his crotch. He was never so frightened to have a trouser snake.

Morgaine had more grace than he did, Oberon noticed as his terror faded. She got out of the bed, sliding her feet into a pair of feathered stilettos as she walked over to someone standing just behind Ares.

"My my, Hippolyta. You look like you're about to perform 'Hercules on Ice.' What's the occasion?"

Hippolyta was here? Oh Jesus, oh fuck, this was bad. Bad. Bad bad bad.

"We have to leave. Now," Hippolyta urged as she deftly circled around her father. Oberon watched her with wide, girlishly frightened eyes. He always told himself that they were black, but in reality, they were the same shade as Jareth's brown eye.

Hippolyta shot her hand out, grabbing the first snake just beneath its hood. It hissed, bearing its teeth far too close to his man parts. Faster than his eyes could follow, a thin stiletto shot out from her bracer and pierced the cobras neck. It sputtered, flailing and choking on its own blood. In its final moment, it looked at Oberon, begging for help. 'Save me,' those murderous eyes pleaded. It was almost sad. Almost

"Titania has taken Sarah, possibly to her refuge. I don't know if it's her bower or her dreamscape. We're going to rescue her." Hippolyta killed the other snake with the same efficiency, although this one sort of gave up and offered its throat. Maybe it just couldn't live without the other one.

Oberon was just about to run away and console his equipment's wounded pride, Hippolyta stole the air from the room.

"You owe it to your daughter."

And the color from Morgaine's face.

* * *

I love you all, I really do. I'm sorry I haven't been responding to you (nor have I been proofreading as hard as I should). I just needed to get these chapters out, and they needed to be uncluttered. But…! Here are the responses you so rightly deserve. I'll only be responding to the comments for chapter twenty-seven, otherwise we'd be here all day. Review this chapter and I'll respond in the next!

* * *

**Titanium Phoenix**: Ares has always been the most approachable and manly of the gods to me, even if Zeus is the one doing all the bonking. I pictured him as that one awesome uncle who told your parents that he was taking you fishing, when in reality he was getting tattoos with you.

**Jinx1764**: It seems that the half-siblings thing is grossing everyone out. But yes, Titania is nuts! And you are such a charming writer.

**Spartiechic**: Well, Spartie aka Kirsten, Kagura aka Jenny loves your work, and is happy you like Ares.

**Lady-Gummy-Bears**: See? There was a point to all those Ares/Daphne inserts! HE'S OUR FRESH MALE BLOOD!

**Lady Minuialwen**: Thank you, reviewer with the hard to pronounce name?

**Dontgotaclue88**: Ass kicking – it's fantastic!

**LittleMargarita**: The one thing I can't conquer with the possible incest twist is not Jareth's, but Sarah's reaction. Whether or not I get to it in this story (or any possible sequel), hers will probably be more negative than Jareth's. This may not bode well for their relationship. Sorry everyone.

**Sapphire Vial**: My goodness! Hades is my favorite god! Out of the twelve Olympians, he was the most faithful to his wife. The only indiscretion I've been able to find is the pursuit of Minthe, but Persephone certainly put the kibosh on that one. And yes, he is smoking hot.

**NarutoCrazy001**: If they are brother and sister, that certainly will make for a bent family tree.

**Helikesitheymikey**: Yeah, he probably won't care.

**Darkbangle**: Angel Sanctuary was so messed up. I made it through the first three episodes of the anime, and I had to turn it off. It was just bizarre. Titania didn't kill Sarah for a specific and logical reason that has more to do with the law than cowardice, but you will just have to see what that reason is!

**KraZiiePyrozHavemoreFun**: Hello, person with the long pen name! I wish I had more time to explain who Morgause was, but that will have to wait. Either for the next chapter, or a sequel. Hint hint!

**Kem1112**: A long, long time ago, I watched Inuyasha and thought that the demon Kagura was pretty cool, so I took the name for my own. Unfortunately, I quickly fell out of love with the show (and anime in general), but I decided to stick with the name for one reason – I'm petty. You see, a couple of years ago, it was possible for multiple members to have the same name on . Then the moderators of the site decided that was confusing, and decided to add numbers to the names according to the order in which the accounts were made. As it turned out, I was the first person to register with the name Kagura, so no numbers were added. I beat out ten other writers for the name, and I took that as a good omen. The name has stuck ever since.

**Cybernetic Mango**: You're welcome!

**Navigator101**: Don't worry, I know that. I adore Greek mythology. Love it. But their relationship is not important. Sadly, Morgaine is not with child. Unfortunate, but no babies. _For now_.

**The Heroine with 1000 Faces**: Don't worry! I have heard your plea!

* * *

Okay folks, this is the part where you review.


	29. Chapter 29

As Jareth transported himself back to Morgaine's house in Salem, he thought of his baby sister's warning. Titania disowned Patricia when she made the choice to shed her immortal coil, vowing never to visit that ungrateful bitch. She forbade her remaining children from seeing their sister, not that they followed the rules. Enyo and Enlil vacationed in Seattle during the summer months (where, presumably, they had _relations_), and Jareth was there every so often to boost her spirits when human behavior chafed at her nobility.

The basement was dark when he reappeared, but not black. Light bled from under the door at the top of the stairs. Odd, considering Morgaine hadn't spent a night at home in weeks. Most likely she found a young cheerleader to molest, and grew tired of her. After seeing the high school's cheer squad, he couldn't blame her. More intelligence could be found in a teaspoon of peanut butter.

Running a hand through his long, uneven locks (he would shorten them later), he turned to walk up the staircase, but just as his heel left the ground, Jareth felt something tug on his hair. Not sharply, his scalp didn't hurt, but enough to halt him. Thinking that his head brushed a low beam, he looked up, nervously looking for iron nails. But the closest beam was a full foot taller than he was.

Unease trickled down his spine. This house wasn't haunted. It had no history, no evil past, no bodies buried under the roses. Sarah's house was the one rumored to be possessed by the devil, although that was just a myth. So no ghost was trying to get his attention. However, any phantom would've been a more preferable caller.

Anything but the mirror would've been better.

His eyes closed against the sudden dose of fear bubbling between his ears. The floor beneath his feet buzzed faintly, and the vibrations rumbled up his heels and into his calves, until his bones shook and rattled. While weaker than an earthquake, it was infinitely more terrifying. A small noise, somewhere between growling and humming, sounded from the corner.

"Shit," Jareth muttered as he rotated his head over his shoulder. "Shit, shit, _shit_."

Oh gods, the thing was supposed to call only Morgaine. They belonged to one another, even if Morgaine occasionally used it to put on lipstick. According to the universe, that was simply the way of things.

Never one to be intimidated, especially by some rejected wardrobe item, Jareth threw his shoulders back and marched right over to the mirror. He looked straight into its depths with a stony glare. For being so powerful, it was a bit of a let down in terms of design. Over the years, myth turned it into a golden portal with a solid pane of diamond sheeting. The truth was, it was simply a piece of glass in a wooden frame. Or at least that was what the Mirror wanted everyone to believe.

Years ago, when he was still a child, Oberon told him that the glass wasn't lined by silver or obsidian. No, it was the very surface of the Fountain of Youth, scraped off with the pugio that Brutus used to stab Caesar. The sheet of glass preserving the living water was a window stolen from Aphrodite's bedroom – a window a never covered by any drapery, so that any passerby would get a decent show. Possessing the combined essence of life, death and vanity, the mirror turned confusion over its purpose into pure evil. The only reason it revealed the truth about Snow White's beauty was so that it could eat her heart.

Keeping this in mind (as if he _couldn__'__t_), he shuffled closer to the mirror, standing before it with trepidation. Minutes ticked by, and little changed. Nothing was reflected in the mirror, its surface black and velvety as mink. When this didn't change, Jareth pointedly cleared his throat. Time was precious, and Jareth loved precious things.

The surface quivered, swelling from the center in gentle waves. Jareth could only tell because of a slight change in color, from soft obsidian to grey flannel. It moved like both ripples on a pond and tongues of fire licking the flue in a fire place.

Some part of his mind, still capable of childish wonder, was honored that he was offered the chance to witness this great display of magic. His crystals golf balls compared to the mirror. The saner, adult part was absolutely terrified and longed to call for his Daddy.

Flecks of color bubble up from the tossing waves, little, dry shavings of amber, butter, rust, ivory and caramel. Floating with them was the subtle fragrance of autumn. The malt of good bourbon, the hops of dark beer, dried leather, even the stale, musky odor of quilts taken out of a cedar chest. Plus, a bitter note of animal droppings. Farms smelled similarly. His nostrils and tongues were coated thickly with the flavor, and he had to lick his teeth to keep from swallowing it.

In time, maybe seconds, maybe hours, the flakes coalesced into a fuzzy portrait that gradually sharpened into focus, arranging itself much like the inner workings of a camera. At first, it was just a soft blend of complimentary colors, save for the black puddle in the middle. The outlines of two figures, one more feminine than the other grew stronger in their lines and shadows. A lump traveled into his throat, while anxiety fell into his belly.

The first thing he saw was Sarah's tranquil, serene face. It was tilted to the side, resting on some white, fluffy substance. Her lashes were thick and feathery against her pale pink cheeks, and that dewy pout was relaxed. Too relaxed. Now he noticed that she plucked her eyebrows, widening the space between them while shaping them into their natural arch, though they were still thick and fairly straight. And yes, he had to admit her new, straighter nose wasn't terrible, but he was infatuated with the old one. Well, he'd just have to get used to it. Maybe kissing it a few times would help. Smiling softly, he waited patiently as the rest of the image settled.

Next, appeared…

His mother?

Jareth blinked and shook his head, thinking he could knock Titania from his mind. No such luck.

What was his mother doing with Sarah?

Her profile hovered above Sarah, grinning and wicked and smooth as a dancing puppet. Everyone was right about their shared looks. Jareth had Titania's cheeks, her jaw, her hooded eyes, and her hair most especially. Though he styled it with more pizzazz. Straight, stringy, fried hair was for horse's.

His mother's face twisted in fury or agony, he couldn't tell, and tears were streaming down cheeks made ruddy from sniffling. Jareth admitted to himself that his heart twisted for his mother. Demented or not, she still birthed him and his odd collection of siblings. Just because she was absolutely mad and of the incestuous variety didn't change the fact that he was her son, and that at one time, they were close. Not as close as he was to his father, which wasn't that close at all, but still close in the blood-to-blood sense.

But all of that was forgotten when the entire picture came together. Sarah was stripped down to her underwear, a mismatched combination of a hot pink, lacy bra and cotton, blue and green polka dotted panties. Did she get dressed in the dark? Titania was even more risqué, practically naked in nothing but a loose swath of sheer, black tulle belted with a thick bands of silver chains. She was naked beneath it.

What the fuck was going on?

Titania was straddling Sarah's bare hips, her thin shoulders up around her ears as she bent over the much, _much_ younger woman. Her toes were curled into the girl's thighs, so deeply that they were bruising Sarah's delicate flesh.

Gasping for breath, Jareth hunched over suddenly, as if someone had kneed him in the stomach. Sarah wasn't sleeping. She was _unconscious_. Stupidly, he wrapped his hands around the mirror's frame for balance. Under his palms, it shook and hummed angrily, its growls escalating in volumes. The mirror could go fuck itself, for all Jareth cared, as at that moment, Titania picked up a broken piece of glass. She held it up to her face, saying something to her reflection, but he couldn't hear it. The image was silent.

Slowly, Titania lowered the makeshift knife to Sarah's throat, and ever so gently dragged over the scar on Sarah's neck. The clear blade passed through her skirt, so cleanly that as it moved from her left ear to her right, it left nothing but a thin, red line. But after a few seconds, small drops of blood beaded and gathered as dew collects on grass. When they were fat enough, they began to roll under gravity's influence, joining together as they seeped into the heaps of fluff cradling her.

Jareth's two-toned eyes immediately shot to her chest, and a modicum of relief swept through his heart. It faded immediately when he realized what the superficial cut meant. Titania wasn't out to kill Sarah. She was _torturing_ her, wounding her with the same glee and delight of a cat batting a wounded sparrow with claws extended.

Tears flashed over his eyes as Titania moved the glass to Sarah's face. She trailed the tip of the shard down Sarah's nose, just enough to smear some blood over it. It was for humiliation, not pain. She drew lines and squiggles, until it was solidly covered with the sticky, quickly browning substance. He didn't miss the significance of that action.

What fear and repulsion he felt was quickly replaced with complete and untainted rage. So, it was his mother behind this whole fiasco? His shithouse cockroach insane, donkey-fucking mother? Really, for a queen to stoop so low, to commit such a base act… it really was kind of admirable.

Had she abused anyone but Sarah. He wouldn't have even felt so enraged if Titania had gone after Patricia.

His nails dug into the back of the mirror, which was warm and slimy, as a new scent wafted from it. It was metallic and sharp, a mix of liquid copper and iron. Human blood really did have a most singular aroma.

Titania grasped Sarah's chin between her thumb and forefinger, pinching the stubborn curve brutally as she pulled the girl's face up, so that it looked like they were eye to eye. A fresh stream of tears fell from his mother's eyes, but this time he wasn't moved to pity. She twisted Sarah's head this way and that, eventually letting fall back to wear it was before. Sarah's lips and chin were smeared with her own blood, but Titania wasn't finished.

She delicately placed the knife alongside the left side of Sarah's nose, until it was parallel with it. Titania held it so precisely that the flat of the glass couldn't be seen, only the thin blade, that's jagged edge was made straight by his perspective. She did not press down, thanks the gods. Then, she carefully rotated her wrist, moving the shard until it was aligned over the middle of Sarah's eye. The glass extended neatly from her nostril to the highpoint of her eyebrow's slight arch. Once, he saw his sister down the same thing with a set of tweezers when she was plucking her brows. Doing so made determining where to shape the arch a piece of cake.

Did she mean to slice Sarah's eye open?

Jareth ground his pointed teeth together, hiding his fear with an angry mask. He braced himself for the vicious act, but Titania, it seemed, couldn't go through with it. Her face twisted and her mouth quivered. She held the blade so tightly blood dripped down from her palm onto Sarah's mouth. As a substitute for her original idea, she simply nicked Sarah's left eyebrow, separating it into two halves with a deep gash that angled towards her temple.

When the wound began to well up, Sarah flinched mildly, her lashes twitching as the blood trickled along the fold of her eyelid. With her nose blocking its flow, the blood pooled in the corner of her eye, only cresting the bridge of her nose when the space couldn't handle no more.

Enough was enough. So, his mother didn't like his new toy? She didn't _approve_ of his decisions? She couldn't understand his taste in women? Her feeble mind couldn't grasp the notion of unrequited, but undying love?

Fine then. If she wanted to play rough, then he was game. Hell, he was the _master_of fighting dirty. Sarah knew this, so did Morgaine, Patricia and presumably Toby. Soon, his mother would be privy to this knowledge.

"When I'm through with you," he hissed at Titania's reflection. "You won't even be recognizable as anything but ground beef. People will look at the floor and wonder what idiot spilled their lunch."

Satisfaction colored his eyes as he saw Titania jolt upright, the glass falling harmlessly on Sarah's bound breasts. She twisted and tilted her head around rapidly, as if she was searching for him. So she could hear him? That was just _perfect_.

"Oh yes," he murmured smugly, nodding his head once as the back of the mirror grew wetter and warmer. "They say you don't truly know someone until you see the inside of themselves, so I guess we'll be quite acquainted when I'm through picking through your innards. I'll finally knew if you have any humor at all. Not the ability to tell jokes, I know you don't have that, but the _four_ humors – black bile, yellow bile, blood and phlegm."

Releasing the mirror, he stepped back from it, his resolve only strengthening as the image disappeared without preamble. It went away like someone had flipped the on/off switch.

Closing his eyes tightly, he tried to feel remorse about what he was about to do, but he couldn't. His loyalties lied elsewhere. Not with Titania, but with Sarah. With Morgaine and Toby. Even his father was owed more allegiance.

His resolve growing, Jareth examined his soaked hands. In the dark, the liquid glowed bright red. He could see the outlines of his fingers, but not the fingers themselves. Somehow, the liquid emitted light even as it consumed it. The liquid pooled in his palms, tingling unpleasantly. Little needles of sharp pain prickled into his pores, shooting up his arms like fire. It didn't take a genius to figure out what the mirror was leaking. The thick fluid looked like blood, if blood could light up like lava. But it was no human substance.

It must've been fabled candy coating the Evil Queen used to make her apples glow with the promise of sweetness and death. The substance was so toxic that all fairies were banned from making it. He'd never even seen it in his long lifetime, so feared it was by Seelie and Unseelie alike. Yet here he was, holding and commanding it. He wasn't dead, after all. Titania though, death would the only kindness he would show her once her was through with her.

"And so it begins, Mother."

* * *

It is on like Donkey Kong, Jareth! YEAH!

Reviews?

Oh yes.

* * *

**Lady-Gummy-Bears**: It isn't definite confirmation, because assumptions can be proven wrong, but who knows. It is, however, definite confirmation to Titania. And possibly a few other characters who will be named in later chapters.

**KraZiiePyrozHavemoreFun**: Long name aside, thanks for the review, KraZiie! And yes they are… badasz?

**Bee5**: Oberon or Morgaine's what?

**Cybernetic****Mango**: Yes. He would. So would my father.

**Darkbangle**: I know the chapters are short, but I promise they'll get longer. I'm in school right now, so my writing schedule is sporadic due to time constraints. As for Oberon, his day is going to become MUCH worse.

**Sapphire****Vial**: Oh look! A sparrow! I'm just going to whistle innocently.

**Lyra**: Oh Lyra. Lyra Lyra Lyra. I have to inform you that RRTD is put on hold for now while I focus on my Halloween themed stor, "In the Company of Lions." It needs some reviews, so why don't you head on over there and check it out?

**Dontgotaclue88**: It just hit it.

**The****Heroine****With****1000****Faces**: What, did you think she would use rope?

**Kiruya**: To thicken your plot stew, add relatives, angst, sex and potato flakes. Then, cook over medium drama for thirty minutes.

**PhoenixBlade**: For immediate smut satisfaction, please head over to the author's profile and read 'Rocky Road to Dublin' and 'Not Too Much to Ask.' Keep your hands and fingers in your lap at all times, so you will not throttle the author when you realize she hasn't… well… posted anything hardcore yet. But I just started an Adultfanfiction account, and I have a story in the works for it. Will that suffice for now?

**xxyangxx2006**: Hello there! Welcome to the show! Glad you like it! Creating characters is so much fun, but for those of you who are confused (which should be none of you), this story involves three different canons – the 'Labyrinth' canon, the 'King Arthur' canon, and the 'Midsummer Night's Dream' canon, which includes the entirety of Greek mythology, as that is the base of it. There are a few bits that are just made up by me. Take that magic mirror up there. I created the mythos for that. So go ahead and hate that. I'm no master.

**Mercy-chan**: Here's the thing. Would Jareth honestly care if she's his half-sister?

**Ginabella59**: Mordred raped her. And thanks for the multiple reviews!

* * *

We know how this works. I write, you review. You review, I write.

See?

It ain't rocket surgery, folks!

Also, check out my new story, 'In the Company of Lions.'

Now.


	30. Chapter 30

A quick spell had Snow White's poison safely contained with a sapphire vial dangling around his neck, next to his pendant. Then, another spell took him to the farmhouse's living room with a snap of his fingers. No longer would he deny his power or natural appearance. Sarah had granted him great power and it was time to return the favor. First he needed to speak with Morgaine. Never would he go alone before his mother. Titania's magic was strong, perhaps even stronger than his. If he went up against her by himself, he could be injured and place Sarah in greater peril.

"Morgaine!" he called out, hissing behind his teeth at the abrupt change in light and temperature. Away from the mirror it was easier to breathe, and recovering from the shock took very little time. Only a few seconds trickled by before he was able to look around without suffering a headache. "Morgaine, we must… Morgaine?"

Jareth needn't have yelled so loudly. Morgaine was sitting on the couch, her feet tucked beneath her as she stared blankly at the fireplace. A steep pile of red-hot ashes shriveled in the brick hearth, evidence of a mighty blaze that had only just gone out. The room was still pleasantly warm.

Morgaine, however, looked cold as ice. The Witch Queen was wearing a little black dress that rode so high on her thighs he could see the hard curve of her rear. Well now, she seemed to be missing her underwear, or it had ridden so high she would need tongs to retrieve it. Her curls hung wild and finger-tousled about her shoulder. When combined with her smudged makeup, all the indicators pointed to a fantastic evening spent with one hell of a lover. Her eyes though were narrowed into cat-like slits, staring lifelessly at an empty bottle of wine on the coffee table. Raised to her oddly pale mouth was a Bordeaux glass, and she seemed to be sucking on the rim of it.

Scratch that, she was gnawing on it. The red drops seeping along the inside of the cup were blood, not wine. She was chipping the crystal with her incisors, and cutting her lips in the process. Mascara streamed down her cheeks, but there weren't any tears, so she didn't appear to be in any pain. At least not the physical sort. Who knew what kind of storm was raging in that deviant mind of hers.

His bravado and murderous instincts temporarily forgotten, he arched a tilted brow at his wicked stepmother. "Morgaine?" he pressed gently, bending over at the waist to try and see her face more clearly. There was just something so wrong with her. It wasn't like her to show any weakness, yet there she was, looking almost forlorn, lost even. Morgaine was none of those things.

But she was a psychopath apparently, because when she heard her name, her teeth clamped down on the glass, shattering it into several large shards. The bigger pieces fell to her lap harmlessly. The ones in her mouth though, she just chewed on those suckers like candy. Bearing her teeth in a vicious snarl, she ground the glass between her teeth. He could see fine slivers of crystal knifing through her gums and tongue, making them swell and bleed. The crunching that came from her the back of her throat was like rocks being put through a garbage disposal.

The blood trickling down her chin was the same shade as Snow White's Poison, and right then, Jareth knew that Morgaine was something to tread lightly around that moment. He watched in wonder as her pupils completely blew until her irises disappeared. The delicate skin under her eyes grew dark and shadowed, purple blood bursting in her capillaries. Oh yes, something horribly, _horribly_ wrong with her; and dear gods, he wanted to know what that something was.

"I can see you're somewhat occupied," he began carefully. "But Sarah has been kidnapped by my mother and she's torturing her. Would you mind terribly if we went and retrieved her?"

In an instant, the fire kicked up, Morgaine's pupils shrunk back to their usual size, and then she was swiping the blood from her chin with the back of her hand. When she licked her teeth, there were white as snow once more. He could still feel her anger, it was suffocating, but at least fire wasn't about to shoot out her nostrils. An angry Morgaine he could deal with. A dragon he couldn't.

"Your father, uncle and cousin are retrieving her as we speak. We can't go after her," she informed him dryly before lifting her hand to pluck bits of glass from between her teeth. She grinned around her nails and quickly stood, stomping towards the kitchen with obvious determination.

Cryptic as her message was, he picked up the key piece of information. They couldn't go after her.

_He_ couldn't go after her.

"That is out of the question!" he bit out, pacing up behind her. "Who cares if my father is already there?"

"Try everyone." Morgaine replied evenly as she hovered over her stove. She was brewing one of her mysterious teas and it smelled like death. So she was still in a bit of a mood. "Titania is a high-ranking queen. She can only be killed _without_ a trial at the hands of a god, or a demi-god. You and I are neither, though you needn't bother with Sarah anymore. I don't know why you'd want to."

Morgaine's tone was riddled with spite and cruelty, obviously aimed at him, but Jareth couldn't figure out why. He hadn't done anything to her, possibly ever. Why was she being so nasty?

"You know why I 'bother' with her, as you so thoughtlessly put it. I love her."

Laughing bitterly, Morgaine turned away from the range, leaning against it casually. In seconds, Jareth could smell the acrid stench of burning fabric and human flesh. Morgaine obviously couldn't, as she didn't even flinch.

"As much as you love Patricia?"

Confused, Jareth simply watched as Morgaine picked up another cup. He fully expected her to eat this one as well, but she simply placed it on the counter by the stove. When she moved over to the sink, he could see that the back of her dress was ready to fall off. The hot burner had _melted_ her skin and muscles from one side of her waist to the other, so much that he could see the delicate bones of her spine. They weren't bleached or yellowed, but perhaps that was due to all the blood. Before he could get a better look, Morgaine came out with the truth. And it wasn't what he expected.

It was far more devastating.

"There's a good chance that Sarah is your sister, Jareth. Oberon had many a tryst with Linda Williams, right up until her first month of pregnancy. Linda Williams had every intention of ridding herself of the pregnancy, but only refrained because of the chance that Sarah might be Oberon's daughter. She always wanted to be famous, after all."

There was a brief moment of complete silence in his mind. This couldn't be true. Something so ridiculous could only be the realm of fiction. Oberon slept with too many men to father children, and the gods knew how much he disliked his own, so why would he even risk having one with a human?

"You're lying," Jareth accused. He wouldn't have noticed the tremor in his voice if it weren't for the sudden softening of Morgaine's expression. "You're upset, and you're just trying to take it out on me." Oh dear, that sounded awfully childish, he realized. But of all Morgaine's lies, this one seemed too strange, too psychotic to be untrue. Of all the hurtful things she could say, that one was just too insane, even for her.

"Oh Jareth," Morgaine whispered. "Haven't you ever looked at Sarah? She looks nothing like her father, and the only other man she slept with at the time of Sarah's birth was Oberon. She even has his hair."

"Big deal," he snapped back. He couldn't believe it, and his mind was searching for possible alternatives to Morgaine's theory. "I don't look anything like my father. I didn't even get my brown eye from him."

No, he didn't. Everyone though he was born with two different colored eyes, but the facts were far less flattering. When he was a boy, he was kicked off his horse. The stallion kicked him firmly in the face. His left eye took the brunt of the blow, and was forever altered. It took month for the cuts and bruises to heal, but even still, his blue iris changed to brown. Titania and Oberon were horrified and set the horse loose soon after the accident, but when Jareth assured them that he was fine, they went back to ignoring him. In reality, he was horrified over the change, and still had trouble seeing out of that eye every now and then. It was why he was so touch oriented, and needed to be close to people to judge their reactions.

Everyone believed that the brown eye came from Oberon, and the blue from Titania. Jareth always supported that claim, insisting and insisting that nothing ever happened to him. He didn't want the world to know that he had failed at something; let alone riding a stupid horse. After a while, even his parents believed the lie. After the accident, he became far closer with his father than ever before.

It seemed Oberon had never told Morgaine of this, because she looked at him as if she had never seen him before.

"You don't look like him, do you?"

He shook his head. "No."

"Why hasn't anyone told me of this before?"

Jareth scoffed. "Maybe they didn't want you to know the truth."

* * *

Morgaine looked at Jareth, trying to find any hint of Oberon. Oberon was tall and broad. Jareth was shorter and slender, only cresting five-feet-ten-inches. This place him closer to Titania's height than Oberon's.

He had wheat blonde hair. Oberon had black. Jareth's features were exotic and pointed. Oberon's were square and broad like a peasant's. Oberon's skin was dark and olive. He was Unseelie after all, and without fail, they were dark or ruddy. They weren't as ethereal as Seelie fairies. It was easier for them to blend in with humans, something Jareth could never do.

Her thoughts flew back to a conversation she had with Sarah. It was that she was accused of being a witch, just because she wore black and kept a strange household. The accusation was insulting and poorly founded at best, but Morgaine's counterattack was flawless. She looked Sarah straight in the eye, and let her in on the biggest secret ever. For all Morgaine's magic and talent for potions, her real power was insidious and deeply desired by all creatures mortal, undying, evil and good. 'I have a talent most witches would die for,' she said to Sarah.

_'__I__ know __when __you__'__re __lying.__'_

And then everything fell into place.

They didn't tell her about Jareth, because they couldn't trust her gullibility. She had no proof that could validate the theory forming in her head, other than the fact that every secret kept from her was large, and potentially devastating to everyone involved. Oberon didn't tell her about Linda, after all. Why would he tell her about Jareth?

"Oh my God," Morgaine uttered quietly, all her previous anger forgotten. To be sure, she was still furious with Oberon. There really was no mistaking Sarah for Robert's child, though there was no need to tell the man. Sarah could do just fine with two fathers.

"You cannot kill Titania. Only Oberon can. But there may be hope for your wedding yet."

"I am so lost right now," Jareth groaned, rubbing his eyes tiredly. "I think you just came to some sort of epiphany. Would you please tell me what it was?"

Morgaine grinned.

"Congratulations, Jareth. You're a bastard."

* * *

Reviews!

* * *

**Gunitatsuhiko**: Is this soon enough for you?

**Blank**: Sorry I made you wait. Love you bunches!

**Dontgotaclue88**: You will have to wait, chere.

**Savyleec**: YES!

**PilithieN**: Do you? Do you really?

**.Lie**: REAL SUGAR ALL THE WAY. Because it's sweet. Much like your review. :)

**Lady Minuialwen**: Thank you ma'am!

**Rlupin**: I love creepy. I think we need creepy every now and then, don't you?

**Solea**: I love Evil Jareth. As long as he's not being evil towards Sarah. I could never get into abuse. I guess I'm way too vanilla for that.

**Sapphire Vial**: How about with a spoon?

**LittleMargarita**: I wish I could tell you what I had planned!

**Avalon-Mist**: She can't.

**Trelweny Rosephoenixwolf**: Yes, it was happening real time.

**Mercy-Chan**: I threw a new wrench into the works. So… yay!

**Jujulr**: I usually greatly like Titania. But she was due for a makeover.

**Holy Renegade**: First off, my puppy is named Renegade. Second off, SHE'S PART WOLF.

**Wishfullivingu89**: I'm glad you like it!

**LoveofSapphires**: Goodness me, that's a long review! But I loved every word. Please, keep reviewing. It keeps me going.

* * *

Remember that bit about rocket surgery? It's still true.


	31. Chapter 31

Stunned and perplexed, Jareth gawked at Morgaine, his mouth falling open. Like any gentleman with a gift for words, he felt obligated to return the insult. True as the accusation was, it was still rude, especially for a lady. Since preemption no longer belonged to him, he had to rely on shock. And so, with utmost grace and wit, Jareth shut his mouth, put on his most threatening glower, and promptly flipped Morgaine off.

"And you're a stupid bitch, so you can go fuck yourself." There. He'd said his part, rather successfully, in his distinguished opinion. If Morgaine could rely on inarticulate jibes at his expense, then she deserved nothing but similar treatment. Crossing his arms over his chest, Jareth stuck out his tongue petulantly and let out a hearty hmph. But it only took a moment for him to entirely regret his actions.

"It's good to know that I raised my children to disrespect their elders."

At the sound of that familiar, deep-chested baritone, a stone fell into Jareth's belly. Many years had passed since he took control of the Labyrinth, even more since he left his family to become a man. Yet even after all that time, it only took one word from his father to make him feel like a boy.

Jareth slowly turned around, without any flourish of any kind. Oberon was hardly stylish in his mannerisms, if anything he was utterly masculine, and acting so flamboyant in front of him was just silly. At least to Jareth. No single emotion was apparent on his face as he appraised his father. Oberon was completely no-nonsense in a black suit, shirt and tie. His black hair was cut close to his head, as was his goatee. Everything about him was a commentary on Jareth's excess. Even his eyes were two pits full of judgment, deep and black in his square face.

"Hello son," Oberon said with a disappointed frown. The back of Jareth's neck prickled, and before he could stop it, a wince flickered across his face. "We need to talk." His eyes flitted over to Morgaine. "Privately, for now."

When Jareth looked over to see Morgaine's reaction, she was gone, her tea cup tipped over on the stove. A black, syrupy liquid was dripping down the face of the range, carrying with it the dregs of what was probably an incredibly poisonous plant. As it trickle, it began to crystallize or freeze, he couldn't tell. He would've looked longer, but he felt a heavy, broad hand on his shoulder, directing him away from the distraction.

"Come Jareth. I don't have much time or courage for what I have to say."

Nodding, Jareth swallowed the stone in his throat and followed him to the kitchen table. Oberon offered wine, but he declined the offer, taking his chair slowly as Oberon sat across from him. At first, neither of them spoke. They simply sized the other up with open interest, as if browsing for antiques at an oddities shop.

"Hippolyta has gone after Sarah, and I suspect Morgaine has gone with her. They work well together. They will find Titania," Oberon said gruffly, intertwining his hands on the table before him. Sitting there, with his dour expression and folded hands, he looked every bit as forbidding as any executioner. Jareth felt as vulnerable as a lone alone in the woods. Oberon looked younger, but there was no counting his years. In some way or form, he had been around forever. Maybe not as a man, but certainly as energy or a spirit. Though not entirely immortal, he was fairly close. An arrow could pierce his heart and stop him dead, but it would have to be fired by Artemis herself.

"You plan to kill my mother?" Jareth asked, twisting and knotting his fingers impatiently in his lap. The fine quills of emerging feathers prickled beneath his fingertips, and in his boots, the fine points of his talons pressed against his socks. It wasn't his father he wanted to fly from. Instead, it was the still frantic urge to seek Sarah driving his transformation. If Oberon wasn't there to repress it, he'd have flown off much earlier.

"I would never plan such a thing, but it will most likely happen. She will not come quietly. I've always feared for your mother's sanity. I fear for Sarah anymore."

Jareth's mouth tightened bitterly. "Because she's your daughter?"

A heavy sigh fell from Oberon's mouth. "I do not love Sarah, Jareth. I do not know her. But I am responsible for her. For the first time in her life, she needs her father."

"So it is true?" Jareth whispered forlornly as his eyes fell to the table. "She is your daughter."

"Most likely," Oberon said flatly. "I maintained an affair with Linda for many years. Sarah bears a striking resemblance to me. She found and defeated _you_. Do you think an ordinary girl could take you on and win?"

By the stars, his heart was aching. So Sarah was his half-sister. There went his dreams, his hopes, his future children even.

"I am happy she met you though. You will make a beautiful couple. I was certain that no woman could ever make you happy."

"We'll never be together, thanks to you," Jareth was quick to bite back, lifting his to chin to pierce his father with a mighty.

* * *

Far from taken aback, Oberon just frowned softly. Jareth had every reason to openly dislike him. They were close, but Oberon wasn't exactly fatherly when it came to his oldest son. As his oldest child, Jareth endured all of Oberon's mistakes as a first-time father. With no father of his own to guide him, Oberon bumbled along, alternately coddling or shunning Jareth whenever it suited him. Constantly, he was unsure as to whether he was making Jareth too soft or not self-sufficient enough.

And now, the man could hardly look at him. Once Patricia was born and turned out so well, Oberon catalogued the errors he had made with Jareth. By then it was too late. There was no changing their past. The most Oberon could hope for was something they both had in common. He just wished it wasn't Sarah.

"Two of my children are already involved with one another intimately," he cooed soothingly. "I would not be opposed to your union. Even if you were both born to me. You love each other. I see it in your eyes. Her eyes too."

Jareth sighed tiredly, swiping a gloved hand across his face. "You're rambling, old man. We've already established that we're both your children."

"No we haven't," he replied carefully, keeping his tone flat and even. "You are my son, but you were not born to me."

As the shock Jareth was surely feeling registered on his face, Oberon remembered a thought he had some months back.

'_And I thought Jareth was my ruin.'_

"You weren't born to me. However, you were conceived because of me, so technically, you are my son. I wouldn't have it any other way."

"What do you mean?" Jareth barked, slamming his hands down on the table. It shook under the force. "Are you insane? Has some poor woman or man finally fucked your brains out?"

Chuckling nervously, Oberon scratched the back of his neck, hoping his next word wouldn't send Jareth into a murderous frenzy.

"No, but Nick Bottom certainly fucked your mothers brains out when I turned him into a donkey. Nine months later, you were born."

* * *

Ares loved hunting. Holy shit, it was fucking fun. Hanging out with the guys, drinking a few kegs a day by the lake, shooting anything that moved and fucking every woman in sight. They'd toss their latest kill on top of a bonfire and chew on whatever didn't completely burn. Hippolyta tagged along every now and then, playing the part of nervous ninny. She'd blow a gasket whenever they killed an animal that just happened to be an endangered species. God, what a tight ass.

But now, her methodical nature was paying off. Initially, Ares just wanted to barge right in and stab Titania in the ear. Why not? He was a god, he got to break the rules every now and then. There was the matter of his dad, however. Zeus did not take kindly to the whole murder thing, at least when it came to his kids. Apparently, there were bullshit rules about that kind of thing.

So now, they were sifting through the snow in Sarah's backyard with their bare hands. Decked out in their winter gear, they were making quick work of the powdery stuff, and already they'd turned up some incredibly cool stuff. Like a golden ring. It had 'Irene and Robert' written on the inside of it, but he could easily erase –

"Dad! Could you please stop playing around? Robert obviously misplaced his wedding. For fuck's sake, pay attention."

Huffing unhappily, Ares got back to digging. Hippolyta was swinging around in the tree like a gibbon, looking for another suspicious. He felt like fucking Scooby Doo, sitting on the ground while the cool kids did all the hard work.

They'd followed Sarah's footsteps out back, and when they got there, Merlin was shivering at the base of the tree. The first thing they did was send him and Toby to Hippolyta's home, where they would spend the night with the triplets. Oberon offered up Puck and Patricia as a babysitter, so Hippolyta's house was probably destroyed. Originally, they wanted to go with Morgaine, but that went really badly.

Like, homicide bad. So they sent her stoner ass back to Salem, so she could wade it out with some wine and maybe rub one out to a Harrison Ford movie. That's what chicks did when they were angry, right? God, girls were weird. Having a vagina must be murder.

"There's nothing down here, Lyta," Ares snarled as he destroyed yet another of Sarah's footprints, looking for anything. It was like trying to nail Jell-O to a tree. Nothing would fucking stick. But damn it if he wasn't going to be the first to find something, anything.

"I found a blonde hair up here," Hippolyta called down abruptly. "It's too light to be Toby's or Titania's."

Shit!

* * *

Of all the scary things, and of all the monsters Toby couldn't conquer, girls were the worst. He thought the girls at school were the worst, because they were stupid and stuff, playing with their Barbie's and unicorns. But this girl was a whole new breed of crazy. One moment, he was asleep beside Sarah, and the next he was waking up on a strange couch in someone else's house.

There was a tall, pretty lady sitting on a table next to him when he awoke. She said her name was Patty and that she was a babysitter hired by Sarah. He promptly called her a liar and informed her that as Jareth's youngest sister she was allowed one lie, but no more. Once she got over her surprise, he asked for a glass of water and another blanket. When she disappeared into the kitchen, that's when the crazy girl showed up.

She was about his size, which made her super tall, because _he_ was super tall. Her skin was light and her hair was dark and curly. She was carrying a sword and pointing it at him. They got into a slight scuffle that ended with Patty placing them into time out. Which is where they still were after five minutes.

"My mom could kill your mom," Daphne said grumpily as she wiggled in her bean bag chair. He knew her name because she shouted it at him.

"Why is that a good thing?"

Daphne was quiet for a moment, but then, unexpectedly, her face turned all red. He thought her ears were about to explode, given that her eyes were suddenly really big.

"I like your hair," she replied hesitantly.

See?

Crazy.

* * *

Hi y'all! Happy Thanksgiving! This is for all of you!


	32. Chapter 32

Bottom.

Nick Bottom was his father.

Nick Bottom, donkey-headed idiot, was his father.

Nick Bottom was his father!

"What are you talking about, old man?" he barked impatiently, slamming his hands on the table once more. "I've never heard anything more ridiculous. And people consider you a smart man?"

Oberon's sheepish expression tightened until he looked unquestionably peeved.

"I don't care if they consider me smart. Titania gave birth to you, but I did not sire you. My relationship with your mother ended years before your conception. Besides, I bewitched Nick Bottom myself. Somebody else provided the necessary material for your conception."

Jareth stared at Oberon, mouth open in disbelief. He searched Oberon's features for any trace of his own, but nothing matched. Oberon definitely resembled his other siblings. His face appeared most strongly in Enyo and Enlil, but Patricia shared her mouth and ears with her kingly father. Jareth, though, looked like someone else. Someone other than Oberon. Jareth remained quiet, mulling over these new developments. Oberon must've mistaken his silence for despair, as he suddenly placed his hands on Jareth's.

"I know I just destroyed your entire childhood, but you are still my son. I want no one else. I don't even want Sarah. I will take care of her, of course, but she has a father. I doubt she wants another."

"You owe her so much," Jareth hissed under his breath as he glared at his father. "Her mother rejected her and her father… I've eaten mollusks smarter than Robert."

The two men stared at each other, daring the other to speak their mind. Jareth ached in so many ways and Oberon looked both worried and distant. Then Oberon tightened his hand around Jareth's wrist, and smiled gently.

"My son," he said quietly. "I love you dearly, more than your other siblings. I don't care if you love Sarah. Two of my children already dally with one another. What do I care if two more engage in the same behavior?"

Jareth blanched. "So Enyo and Enlil… well they… with each other?"

"Yes," Oberon nodded. "Thankfully they don't desire a family, otherwise my grandchildren might look like the Elephant man."

They chuckled at the joke as much as they could. So many problems remained, the first being Sarah and Titania, naturally. To retrieve Sarah meant opening Pandora's Box. Titania ranked highly in any royal court. Pursuing her might result in their doom. But he was willing to take that risk.

"I'll get Morgaine," Oberon muttered quietly before patting Jareth's hands. "Enough of this emotional humdrum. It suits neither of us."

They both stood from the table. Oberon left the kitchen while Jareth lingered. His heart hurt. Even if they shared no blood, little hope for a relationship with her remained. Ridiculous taboos determined human behavior, after all, and incest disgusted most mortals. Even if they weren't siblings, Oberon was his stepfather. Sarah could never be with her stepbrother. Never with him.

When Oberon failed to return, Jareth knew he hadn't gone to retrieve Morgaine at all. He left to go deal with Titania. Morgaine said only the descendents of gods could kill fairies without repercussion. As the son of a man… donkey-thing, he could only sit tight and wait for the outcome. Still, Morgaine probably needed company, and he knew just where to find her.

Flicking a crystal from his wrist to his fingers, Jareth focused all his energy on Morgaine. When he found her, he dropped the crystal at his feet. Without even a hint of glitter, he transported himself to Avalon, dressed head to toe in black silk. To wear leather and sequins to a funeral was just in bad taste.

He found deep within one of her orchards. Though Morgaine manicured her gardens to perfection, the rest of the island she let grow wild. Years of harsh winds bent and twisted the trees until they hunched over like old men. They bore no fruit this year because of a long winter, but their flowers still bloomed. Jareth wove his way between them, crushing dry grass beneath his flat boots. He peered through the flowered branches at the starry sky above them, picking out constellations, both known and unknown. Some even moved. A hunter chased a boar.

Softly he came upon her, at the top of a treeless hill. Within a circle of standing stone, Morgaine knelt before little gravestones. He recognized the names on them, even though he never met them. Morgaine wore jeans and a red sweatshirt, clothes hardly appropriate for the situation, but comfortable. He'd want to be comfortable if he wore her shoes.

"Did you bury them yourself?" he asked quietly as he walked up behind her. The wind tossed her wild curls around her long neck and thin shoulders. Under the pale moonlight, her freckles mimicked cinnamon on whipped cream

"I did," she replied, rather emotionlessly. "Rather, I used a spell. Little remained of the poor girls. They required a quick burial, and I can't dig that fast."

She gave the girls another moment of her times. Her fingers passed under the names on the gravestones, first Diana then Bevin. Dusty smoke curled as the heat from her fingers left an epithet.

'Here lies Diana, a huntress in her own right.'

'Bevin lies here, her crown topped with fire.'

Grunting, she placed her hands on the ground and pushed herself up before turning to stare tiredly at her stepson. Jareth winced at the dark circles beneath her eyes and the leaves stuck in her hair. The lines around her mouth spoke of tiredness and age.

"Did you love them?" he asked. Morgaine's brows rose, and then she chuckled while rubbing a hand over her eyes.

"No. Diana and Bevin were just nice girls with nicer figures. They wanted to get ahead in the world. Lots of people do. It's a shame they didn't get to fulfill their dreams."

Jareth oftened wondered at his stepmother's moods. Extreme as they were, he couldn't say they were inappropriate. They were simply extreme. He expected ranting and raving, to be railed at for dragging her poor paramours into his troubles. But she acted so docile, so resigned. Something was askew.

"You're behaving oddly," he drawled quietly. "Where's the fearsome Morgaine who ruined a kingdom? A kitten stands in her place."

A quick, slight smile flitted across Morgaine's face, but a frown quickly replaced it.

"The mirror showed me my future," came her tired response. His interest piqued, Jareth moved closer and tilted his head to the side.

"What did you see?"

For a moment, he swore her eyes turned glassy with tears, but then they dried despite her next statement.

"I am not long for this world," she sighed. "I will not survive the coming war."

Morgaine laughed mirthlessly and closed her eyes. Jareth staggered under the weight of her words.

"In truth, I may not make it past morning. Oberon may meet the same fate."

* * *

This chapter is _incredibly_ short, I know, but a certain private message prompted me to post it. I hope to be finished with this story soon.

Thank you all for hanging on. Real life often gets in the way.


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